


A Court of Feels and Bathtime Sadness

by awwilson



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 50
Words: 93,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21739765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awwilson/pseuds/awwilson
Summary: Retelling of Feyre's time in the Spring Court immediately after the events of A Court of Mist and Fury - a retelling where Feyre is actually a badass High Lady of the Night Court, and she and Rhys are not the two most boring people in book 3
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Comments: 2
Kudos: 62





	1. Prologue

Every night before I fall asleep, I let the glamour on my right hand slip. I study the whorls of black ink, tracing each line with my eyes, using only the moonlight to illuminate my hand. I don’t dare conjure a faelight, lest someone in the manor intrude and spot the tattoo.

The mark of the High Lady of the Night Court.

Just thinking the title sends a shiver down my spine. I long to return home to Velaris, to my family, to my mate. But my work here is not done.

Turning over in bed, I stare into the alluring cat’s eye in the middle of my palm as I set the glamour back in place. Since I cannot speak to my mate down our bond for fear of disrupting my carefully-crafted mask, I whisper my thoughts to the eye.

 _I love you_.

I hope he can hear me.


	2. Chapter 2

In the week I’d been at the Spring Court, I’d heard no mention of Hybern. Tamlin had been away at meetings all week, and I hadn’t gotten the chance to ask about his battle plans. To sit for hours each day painting was infuriating, when otherwise, if I were back at the Night Court, I would be strategizing how to face Hybern.

But although Tamlin had promised to let me be more involved in the meetings, I couldn’t risk seeming too curious about the alliance with Hybern. I was supposed to be damaged and healing. Well, I had been damaged, but I healed months ago. At this point, I was just angry.

Tamlin entered the study with a look of frustration on his face, and I took it as an opportunity to ask.

“Is everything alright?” I set down my paintbrush and stood from my stool to approach him. I looked up at him with what I hoped was the face of a frightened helpless female. “Is it…” I forced myself to swallow. “Are Hybern’s generals demanding too much?”

My goal was to break the alliance with Hybern at all costs. After that, I could work to ally the courts of Prythian against Hybern.

Tamlin gave me a funny look. As if remembering something, he took a seat next to me and pulled my hands into his. I had no choice but to let him.

“Feyre,” he said softly. I looked into his eyes to find him staring intently into mine. “Do you truly think I would ally with Hybern?”

A flicker of confusion crossed my face, but he continued before I had the chance to speak.

“I broke off the alliance the minute we returned to the Spring Court. I used him to access to the Cauldron’s power to save you and to protect you.”

A pit of dread settled in my stomach. “Protect me?”

“Of course,” he said, straightening. “I demanded he place Cauldron-made wards around the entire court. No one can enter without my explicit permission.”

Against my will, my lips parted in horror.

“Do you see? I did this for you. You’re safe now. He will never touch you again, I promise.” Taking my silence for shock and relief, he folded me into his arms. “I love you so much. I couldn’t bear anything to happen to you again.”

I counted to five before extricating myself from his embrace. Thoughts spun through my head. My mission was completely changed by this revelation. The alliance had already been broken – I could return home! But no, the threat of Hybern still remained. And now Tamlin had gone and pissed off the King. Retaliation would be swift and brutal. My second goal remained. I must see the Spring Court prepared for war.

“What about the King’s wrath? War must be on the horizon.”

He dismissed my concern with the wave of his hand. “The wards can protect us from Hybern.”

Arrogant, selfish male.

“What about the humans?” I pressed him. “What about the other courts? We can’t abandon them simply because we are safe.”

“My court comes first, Feyre.” His eyes hardened slightly, and I knew I was near the edge of pushing him too far. I had to maintain my air of helplessness, at least for now. Another thought crossed my mind, and I fixed my eyes on the ground.

“But if the wards were made by the Cauldron,” I said quiet enough to be a whisper, “Can’t they be _unmade_ by the Cauldron?”

That argument finally seemed to shake Tamlin from his arrogance. He released my hands and ran his own through his hair. Releasing a loud breath, he stood and kissed the top of my head.

“I’ll see you at dinner tonight. Thank you,” he whispered into my hair.

I grabbed his hand before he could leave.

“Take me with you.”

“But your painting–”

“Take me with you,” I repeated, letting a hint of desperation into my voice. “You said it yourself: with the wards, I’m safe. I want to help in any way I can. Please.” Gods, I hoped I didn’t have to kiss him just to make him agree.

But it seemed that my words were enough to sway him, because he sighed and nodded. “We meet in an hour.”

♦♦♦

Tamlin was waiting for me at the base of the staircase when I made my way downstairs an hour later. I’d washed the paint from my arms and face, and Alis helped me into a pale green dress before expertly weaving pink flowers into my two long braids. I didn’t know much about this meeting, but I figured I would want to maintain the guise of a delicate female.

I accepted Tamlin’s outstretched hand, and he guided me down the hall past the dining room and the study. At the end of the hallway, he stopped before a closed door and fished out a key from the pocket of his forest green jacket. I had been curious about the door since I first came to the Spring Court all those months ago, and as long as I had stayed in the manor, I had never seen anyone enter or exit from the room beyond.

The key turned in the lock, and the door opened to reveal not a room but a staircase leading down into darkness. I heard a faint rustling an instant before Tamlin snapped his fingers. Torches roared to life, illuminating the stairs, and I gasped as I beheld the path. Thick vines covered every inch of the walls, ceiling, and floor. Despite being trapped in darkness for who knows how long, the vines had the deep green of ordinary vines, and they were very much alive and writhing along every surface they covered. It was the most sinister magic I had seen from the Spring Court.

Tamlin noted my hesitation and drew me closer to him with a small smile. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured into my ear as he took a step onto the vine-covered staircase.

The vines parted to make room for his foot before it landed on the first stair, revealing a soft bed of grass beneath. I followed, mesmerized, and the snakelike vines parted for me as they did for the High Lord. As I glanced back, I saw the door had closed, and vines covered the entire surface, obscuring the doorknob completely.

“They respond only to my commands and allow in only those I permit.”

“What happens to those who you do not permit?” I asked breathlessly.

He gave me a smile that was not wholly pleasant as he picked up one of the torches lining the walls. Extinguishing it, he fed the torch to the vines on the wall.

It would be wrong to say the vines merely covered it; they devoured it. One moment, the torch was in Tamlin’s hand. The next, all that remained were shards of brown barely visible throughout the snaking vines.

He laughed at the disgust written across my face. “The Spring Court is not all flowers and sunshine, my love. Flowers have thorns, and too much sunlight burns.”

Well, I knew that firsthand.

We reached the bottom of the staircase, and Tamlin placed his hand on the blank, vine-covered wall before us. As with our footsteps, the vines parted for his hand, and the wall crumbled to reveal a round room. In the center stood a topographical map of Prythian with figures representing the locations and sizes of the other courts’ troops. My heart pounded to note an immense cluster of these figures in the Illyrian mountains and a smaller one atop the Hewn City. The Illyrians and the Darkbringers. I had to stifle a cry when I spotted a newly-painted dot on the northwestern coast: Velaris. The city kept secret for thousands of years, and Tamlin knew about it.

I was too focused on the map at first to notice the five figures in the room. It wasn’t until Lucien gently took my arm and drew me further into the war room, tearing my gaze from Velaris, that I saw him, Ianthe, and three others I had never laid eyes on. Lucien and Ianthe I was unsurprised to find. The youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court was Tamlin’s emissary to the other courts and his closest friend as well, and, with her lofty ambitions, the High Priestess had found a way to weasel herself into attending all Tamlin’s meetings.

The other three, however, I didn’t recognize from Under the Mountain or any of the pre-wedding parties we had hosted. If they were allowed within Tamlin’s war room, though, they must have been close to him.

Lucien and I stopped in front of them, and all three bowed their heads in greeting. With a start, I realized only one was High Fae. The female in the center stood no taller than my waist, but far from seeming innocent or childlike, she was the most ferocious of the three. Scars crisscrossed her hairless head, and a belt with enough knives to have made Cassian wary was slung across her hips. On her right stood a male with skin the color of the sea and wings unlike any other I’d ever seen. Featherless, they appeared glossy, almost wet, and though thick as my wrist, it seemed as though I could see through the membrane to the wall behind the faerie. On the left stood the High Fae female. Her face was tanned and leathery, and an iridescent gold-green tattoo of snaking vines, not dissimilar to those in the hallway, wound across the left half of her face. As I met my blue eyes to her round golden ones, I tried to imagine how old she must be to appear middle-aged.

“May I present the Lady Feyre Cursebreaker,” he said to the faeries, words more formal than usual. “My lady, may I present Liv, General of the Spring Court Military,” the female in the center nodded to acknowledge her rank, “Alistair, General of the Shapeshifting Legions,” the male nodded, “and Celis, General of the Falconers,” the goldeneyed female nodded.

I nodded to each of them in return. Their appearances certainly fit their titles, but I couldn’t believe the implications. The Spring Court had a military? And _shapeshifting_ legions? And _Falconers_? I supposed it was naïve of me to believe only the Night Court had armies, but in the months I’d lived at the Spring Court, I’d never heard a whisper of any of these forces. Where had they been when Amarantha ruled, and why hadn’t they done anything to intervene?

Before I could voice my questions, the goldeneyed faerie, Celis, snorted and shook her head. “Come now, Lucien, it’s been quite a while since we’ve borne those titles. No need to start now.”

Liv smacked the back of Celis’s hand with the flat edge of one of her knives, and the taller female hissed.

“Why do you think we’ve been summoned, you im–”

Celis flicked an eyebrow up, and Liv had the sense to swallow her insult.

“Why are we here, Tamlin?” the blue faerie, Alistair, asked softly.

I turned back to look at the High Lord. He was leaning over the map of Prythian, both palms flat on its edge. His eyes darted across the map, and I could nearly feel the intensity of his thoughts. I’d seen this intensity before, right before he’d trapped me in this manor months ago. It wasn’t an intensity I felt wholly comfortable with in charge of planning the fate of Prythian.

“Hybern.”

♦♦♦

The meeting didn’t last long. It turned out Tamlin had disbanded his armies just after Amarantha’s coup to allow soldiers to return home to their families for a few decades of happiness. Now that I had defeated Amarantha, Tamlin and the Generals planned to send out messengers to round up the soldiers and reform the armies. The issue would be the training. While not an expansive amount of time compared the lifespan of an immortal, fifty years of inaction would weigh hard on the soldiers. They would need time to rebuild muscle and learn new fighting maneuvers.

Liv, Alistair, and Celis did not seem to acknowledge the mountain of work in front of them, taking Tamlin’s instructions to prepare the three armies in stride without complaint. By the end of the week, all villages would have received word that the armies were once again operative, and by the end of the month, the Generals promised to have sizeable legions ready for war.

As they turned to leave, none of them made to depart through the door to the manor. Instead, each placed a hand to the wall nearest them, and three vine-covered tunnels appeared. Liv saluted to us, Alistair dipped his head in a shallow bow, and Celis gave me a wink before they disappeared into the tunnels.

I hadn’t contributed much to the discussion, and once the Generals left, Tamlin turned to me.

“Well?” he asked.

What was he looking for? A thank you? I refused to thank him for receiving this small measure of respect he had shown for _allowing_ me to hear his war plans. I took it as an opportunity to voice the questions that remained within me.

“I thought the population of the Spring Court was small.” Not quite a question, but still a response that saved me from having to express gratitude toward him.

Ianthe, who had wedged herself into the center of the preparations, came to my side and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Only a front, my dear.”

Once, I had thought that tone sympathetic. Now I knew it for pure condescension. I masked my rising anger and furrowed my brow. “But I thought there were no cities in the Spring Court?”

“We do not need cities to have numbers. The court is made of villages, yes, but have you ever given any thought to how many villages?”

In fact, I _had_ , when I had attended the Tithe last year. At the time, it had seemed like we had passed through quite a few villages, but certainly not enough to sustain an army, let alone three.

“Quit toying with her, Ianthe,” Lucien broke in with a snarl. “Almost every villager has been trained in the Military. When we march, the villages become ghost towns. The Shapeshifters and the Falconers are more solitary, and they live elsewhere: the Shapeshifters in rivers and the sea, and the Falconers in the woods. They will be brought here,” he pointed on the map to a plain a few leagues from the manor, “For training.”

Tamlin still looked at me expectantly. What did he _want_ from me? I met his eyes and held them as I said, more forcefully than I’d said anything in the past week, “I’d like to help.”

His eyes shone. That’s what he’d been waiting for me to say. A slight smile touched the edges of his lips, and he caught me watching his reaction, his lips. I quickly broke my gaze from him and his stare that now turned hungry. For me.

I took a few shallow breaths to hide the flush of anger that rose to my face which would have been perceived as desire. It was not the time to stir Tamlin’s lust for me. I would save that tool to wield in more dire situations.

I turned to Ianthe, who had opened her mouth to protest. “I can’t sit idle while we prepare for war. I must do what I can to protect the Spring Court. It is as much my home as any of yours.” I almost laughed at my words, but I forced myself to meet the eyes of each of my companions.

To my surprise, Lucien spoke up.

“Would you like to come with me to the villages tomorrow to spread the call to arms?”

I had to strain to keep my smile innocent.

“Yes, I would like that very much.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Lucien and I were to meet at the stables to begin our journey throughout the villages. I didn’t spot him as I entered the stables. In fact, they seemed emptier than usual, only a few stablehands running about and one of the High Fae saddling Lucien’s horse. He turned around as I entered, and I recognized his face. It _was_ Lucien, but the long orange hair that had fallen around his shoulders like flames had been shorn close to his head. Its bright orange hue still stood out among the Spring Court green-and-gold, but I felt a pang of sadness for the loss of what I had considered an integral part of his presence.

He wore a deep green pressed jacket trimmed in gold, three gold stars pinned on a panel resting on each shoulder. Three matching gold star pins adorned either side of his collar. The upper left side of the jacket held many insignias and badges, and the official crest of the Spring Court, a swirling tangle of flowers and vines surrounding a stylized figure similar to Tamlin’s beast form, was embroidered on the right breast pocket. Crisp black pants were tucked into a pair of shiny black boots that looked like they hadn’t been worn in a very long time.

He looked… hot. Official, of course, and his demeanor betrayed nothing but business, but hot nonetheless. The military uniform suited him.

Compared to him, I felt woefully underdressed. I had opted for a structured dress of pale blue and gold, fancier than my usual attire, but nowhere near as formal as Lucien’s. He didn’t blink at my dress, though, and I put my self-consciousness from my mind.

I hadn’t been able to ask whether Tamlin or Ianthe would accompany us, but glancing around, I saw no sign of either. Good, it would be just me and Lucien.

We had devised a route that would allow us to announce the war call at four villages, which would in turn deliver the news to the surrounding villages in a ripple effect. Tamlin had identified these four as the largest and most influential villages, needing more time than the others to pack up and leave for the training grounds but still capable of spreading news efficiently. I hoped to learn what I could about the citizens of the Spring Court and begin fostering relationships with them.

We rode two hours to the first village. A sentry spotted us half a mile from the village and guided us toward the town square. I remembered the village and the square from the Tithe. This time, instead of sitting on a dais like overlords, Lucien and I stood among the villagers, shaking hands and greeting those around us as we waited for the whole village to gather. Lucien interacted effortlessly with the villagers, addressing a few by name and listening intently to local news from the village leaders.

I hadn’t realized quite how good he was at his job as an emissary. I’d thought Tamlin had assigned him the role due to his experience traversing courts, but it was evident from witnessing these interactions that he had some skill maneuvering social situations and pacifying conflict. In fact, he wouldn’t have made a bad High Lord himself. Unlike so many of the High Fae I’d met, he treated the lesser faeries with respect.

I tried introducing myself to a few of the villagers, but when they heard my name, many refused to meet my eyes, turning red and stammering words of gratitude for what I’d done Under the Mountain. Nothing I said could calm their emotion, and I made a note to ask Lucien how he navigated his conversations with the villagers so smoothly. A High Lady must know how to interact with her people.

After my failed attempts at conversation with the villagers, I turned to the children, squatting to offer smiles and sweets. I had never spent much time around children, but meeting these young faeries, I marveled at the ease of their laughter. They had the same carefree air as the people of Velaris, untouched by evil and war. The thought of destroying that happy peace by sending their parents off to war tied a knot in my stomach.

I stood, ignoring the dirt on my dress, and turned to Lucien. He caught my eye and quickly finished his conversation with the village leaders. He clapped twice, and the crowd fell silent.

The villagers listened to our call to arms without complaint. Blessedly, Lucien remained vague about the circumstances of the initial alliance with Hybern. Whether to protect me or to minimize outrage at Tamlin’s foolishness, I couldn’t tell. I hoped for the second, but I knew that Tamlin at least didn’t view starting a war over me as foolish. Lucien was more difficult to read. Our relationship had had so many ups and downs, I wouldn’t have put it past him to blame me for the whole situation.

As Lucien finished delivering the news and the villagers turned to leave, I spoke up.

“I will return in five days to winnow all those who would prefer not to travel on foot.”

None had muttered a word of disapproval upon hearing the call to arms, but at this announcement, cries of protest erupted from the crowd.

“My lady, you mustn’t trouble yourself!”

“Please, we could not bear the shame!”

“Truly, my Lady Cursebreaker,” said the village leader softly at my side, “It would tarnish our reputations to allow you to transport us like a common pack mule.”

I laughed and said, loud enough for the crowd to hear, “I have the ability to help all of you at very little cost to myself. And even if it was at great cost to myself, I would still be overjoyed to aid you, for it is my duty as a Lady of the Spring Court to do everything in my power to improve your lives. If acting the pack mule for a day benefits any of you, it would bring me nothing less than absolute joy. It is my pleasure to be your pack mule.”

Lucien gave me a strange look, a cross between confusion and… was that awe? It was gone in an instant, and before the crowd could voice another doubt, he came to my side and said, “I too will be here to offer winnowing services. Between the two of us, we will make short work of evacuating the village.”

The crowd pressed in around us, shaking my and Lucien’s hands and spilling words of gratitude. I grasped each faerie’s hand in my own and met their eyes to acknowledge their thanks graciously, channeling stability and calm. I was their Lady, the consort to the High Lord, and I did have the power to change their lives.

It didn’t quite matter that the Spring Court was not my home. I had a duty towards the villagers, just as I had a duty to protect the humans. Not because I was the central ruler of their lands, but because I had abilities no others possessed or acquiesced to share with them.

I felt a pang of guilt to remember my abandonment of my own people at the Night Court. Did they not deserve the care and attention of their ruler as well? But they _did_ have a compassionate ruler to lead them. I had no doubt in my absence Rhysand led our people with all the grace and concern he’d demonstrated in my presence. I’d left them in hands infinitely more capable than the hands that led the Spring Court. Though my allegiance was to the Night Court, my duty was to all. I was not Made from the seed of the Night Court alone, but from the seeds of all the courts. I belonged to all.

The meetings with the other villages went similarly, with ready acceptance of our call to arms and praise at my offer to winnow the villagers to the training grounds. By the end of the day, Lucien and I were exhausted, and dinner at the manor with Tamlin and Ianthe was a short affair.

I hadn’t feigned my fatigue at dinner, but when I sensed footsteps outside my bedroom door, I hastily recast the glamour over my tattoo and buried my face in the pillows. Two soft taps at the door had me lengthening my breaths and willing my heartbeats to slow. I couldn’t be sure it was Tamlin outside, but I couldn’t risk answering the door. If it _was_ Tamlin, I would have to stammer an excuse to send him away.

I’d curbed his lust by relying on my fictional trauma at the Night Court since I’d returned, but blaming the Night Court no longer suited my needs. Not only did I feel uncomfortable implying that my mate would ever do such a thing, but I had worn out the victim card. To enact change within the Spring Court, I needed to remind Tamlin of my strength. So I thought of the night sky to steady my heartbeats and prayed for the footsteps to recede down the hall.


	4. Chapter 4

The manor was abuzz with activity when I awoke the next morning. Today, we would head to the training grounds to begin preparations for the soldiers’ arrival in the coming days. There were grounds to be cleared and tents to assemble. The kitchen staff had to feed the faeries as they trickled in before a routine chore schedule could be established.

A line of faeries waited to speak with Tamlin, and I could hear him barking orders long before I entered the dining room for breakfast. He gave me a warm hello when he saw me, a greeting I had no choice but to meet with equal enthusiasm. Oh yes, it had definitely been Tamlin outside my door last night.

I buttered a piece of toast, listening to the petitions.

“My lord,” a gardener I recognized was saying, “Could you spare any to assist us readying the training grounds? For an army this size, we will need a great deal of land, which will take time to clear. I’m sure my lord understands how much damage an errant rock could do to an unsuspecting soldier if he or she were to stumble upon it during training. Sprained ankles at the very least. If only–”

“Enough.” The gardener cut off immediately. “I have already pulled a score of sentries from their positions to aid you, and I cannot spare any more. Clear the ground as best you can. If a weakling is foolish enough to injure himself on forest debris, I daresay he wouldn’t be much good on a battlefield, either, and his loss becomes our gain.”

“Yes, my lord.” The gardener bowed, and the next faerie approached Tamlin.

His words had left a foul taste in my mouth. I finished my toast quickly before I had to stomach the next petition. I knew war demanded struggle and sacrifice from all involved, but I had expected the Spring Court to have less… cutthroat techniques. The Illyrians had brutal training practices, true, but the Spring Court had always possessed a certain delicate grace that, for all the wonders and joy I had found in Velaris, the Night Court never had. The Spring Court was deadly in the way nature is deadly – the way beautiful flowers contained hidden poison, unseen until the victim had already fallen into their trap. But I supposed everything changes in war, and I began to dread the day when I would have to rein in my compassion in favor of victory.

I laid a hand on Tamlin’s shoulder by way of goodbye, but he caught my hand before I could leave. His hand was warm, a strange contrast to his cold words moments ago.

“Any plans for today? There may be a bit too much commotion to paint quietly.” I heard the apology in his tone and wanted to strangle him.

“I’m going to visit the training grounds to help with the preparations,” I told him innocently but firmly enough that he wouldn’t argue. “Didn’t Celis say the Falconers would begin arriving today?”

He looked as if he wanted to protest, especially once I mentioned the Falconer General, but he remembered his promise to allow me more freedom and bit back his argument. Instead, he said, “I’ll be around most of the day, so if Celis is in a mood, feel free to come find me.” He pressed a dismissive kiss to my hand and finally let me leave.

In my hurry to escape Tamlin, I nearly ran headlong into Lucien. He wore the same military attire as yesterday, and it was still a shock to see his close-cropped hair.

“Headed to the training grounds?” I asked.

He nodded. “Liv and I need to devise a training protocol for the soldiers.”

“Can I join you? I’m not exactly sure where they are.”

“So you’re an expert on battle training, are you? Did they teach you that at the Night Court too?”

I shot him a dirty look. “There’s the Lucien I know. Haven’t seen him around in a while, since you’ve been so preoccupied licking Tamlin’s boots like his favorite pet dog.”

The banter kept me from needing to respond to Lucien’s comment about the Night Court, but within, I began to worry. Had I been too forward too soon? Had my ability to winnow belied the rest of the training I had done with Rhys? I could evade the questions for now, but sooner or later, my powers would come out. If I kept them secret too long, I might arouse suspicion for not revealing them earlier. Not long enough, and I risked admitting how much I _had_ learned at the Night Court. No, I needed to keep an eye out for the opportune moment to demonstrate the full might of my magic. It seemed Rhys’s flair for the dramatic had rubbed off on me.

Lucien didn’t respond but extended an arm to me, his metal eye narrowing. I laid a hand on his arm, and the world became not smoke and darkness, like my and Rhys’s winnowing, but wind and heat, the breath of a volcano. Rather than burning, the heat comforted, a gentle weight pressed against every muscle in my body. The warmth must have come from his Autumn Court heritage, the wind from his current position within Spring Court.

Great, another thing I’d have to disguise. I doubted I’d have to refocus my winnowing before tomorrow, when Lucien and I would head to the first of the four villages to carry the villagers to the training grounds, but it was something I’d have to practice before I winnowed any Spring Court High Fae, who would no doubt recognize my darkness as a product of the Night Court.

We arrived at the training grounds in an instant, and I was too overcome by the sight to thank Lucien for transporting me. The grassy plain was cordoned off into an exact rectangle by a rim of forest on three sides, a placid river bordering the fourth, one of the long edges of the rectangle. The plain extended so far before me that the trees of the forest at the opposite edge were no taller than a fingernail. Faeries bustled about, dividing the area into distinct sections with a magic that altered the color of the grass to designate each section. I had seen a few of these type of faerie at the manor; large-eyed, they possessed a modified version of Tamlin’s shapeshifting powers, able to change the color of their skin at will. It seemed that their abilities extended to coloring nature as well. As I watched, I noted four sections. One thin section ran against the longer forest edge, parallel to the river. Two smaller sections bordered the shorter forest edges, leaving a massive square section in the center of the plain.

“The military tents are pitched there,” Lucien told me, pointing to the long thin section. “The Falconers train against the forest here,” he indicated the section nearest us, “and the Shapeshifters train against the far edge of the forest. The Military trains in the center. The Falconers camp in the forest with their birds, and the Shapeshifters prefer the river.” His words were terse, and I could tell he hoped he could escape to his meeting with Liv. I waved him off with a dismissive air that further soured his expression.

As he stormed away, I remained fixed on my spot, taking in the flurry of activity. Indeed, as Lucien had noted, I could pinpoint the purpose of each of the sections within the training grounds. Color-changing faeries drew small rectangles in two lines within the Military camp while other faeries followed, erecting tents with precise labels to designate each occupant. They left a patch of grass empty at each end of the camp. On one end, I recognized a few of the kitchen staff stoking fires and chopping vegetables and arranging tables. On the other, wide but shallow basins for laundry sat empty for the moment, soon to be filled with soap and water and the dirty clothing of the entire population of the Spring Court. Next to them, faeries sat mending uniforms like Lucien’s and sharpening thin swords and broad spears.

My eyes followed Lucien as he strode to a pavilion in the center of the rows of tents. With my Fae eyesight, I could make out Liv hunched over a table, likely spread with maps and battle tactics. Scanning past the Military training section, mostly empty save for a few gardeners sweeping the grass for errant twigs and rocks, I found Alistair overseeing a number of blue faeries like him. He was running them back and forth across the Shapeshifters’ section, the pace somewhat lazy given the gravity of looming war.

But as I squinted, the faeries seemed to run on shaky legs. Then, a faint boom sounded from their far end of the plain, and Tamlin crouched at the river, reaching into the water and tossing writhing blue figures behind him. He was snatching fish from the water and _changing_ them into faeries. Well, that explained the unsteady legs. Shapeshifting legions, indeed.

I turned my eyes to the Falconers’ section and spotted Celis not far from me, a magnificent bird perched on her arm – round, golden eyes twins to her own. Dressed in brown leathers similar in style to the Illyrians’ fighting leathers and a green cape that billowed out behind her, clasped with a golden brooch of the Spring Court’s crest, the Falconer General looked her part. She left her grey-streaked black hair free, and the wind whipped it about. Between her halo of hair and her shimmering tattoo, she was equal parts beautiful and formidable. Celis was leaning her head toward her falcon’s, clicking softly with her tongue to communicate with the bird. The falcon tilted its head as if listening and weighing Celis’s instructions. With a sudden cry, it spread its wings wide and leaped from the Falconer’s arm to disappear amongst the trees.

“Good morning, my lady.” Celis didn’t tear her gaze from her falcon as she addressed me.

“Good morning, General.”

“Phaw,” she said, shooing away my formality. Satisfied with her bird’s flight, she turned to me. “After all the stories I’ve heard about you, girl, don’t disappoint me by turning out to be just another high-and-mighty court prick.”

It was that instant when I decided I liked the female.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be a disappointment, now would I?” I tried and failed to hold back a smile.

The twinkle in her eye told me she felt the same about me. Friends. The first true friend I had within the Spring Court.

“Your soldiers are to arrive today?” I knew the answer, but I used the opportunity to fall into step alongside the General.

“The slackers,” she muttered with a glance around the vacant Falconer training section, “Just as flighty themselves as their birds.” It was the complaint of a fond parent, though, and I could sense the immense faith she had in her soldiers. Despite her words, she had no doubt they would heed her call to arms.

Questions bubbled within me, and I floundered for a moment as I weighed which to ask first. Celis, catching my eagerness, smoothly continued.

“We are a cohort of outcasts and idealists. I would wager a good deal of coin that they are making the journey on foot rather than parting with their birds to winnow. They will claim they need the exercise, though life in the forest demands constant exercise, before admitting that particular weakness. And because of their stubborn pride, they will arrive late and fatigued, and we will have wasted much of the day.

“Within the Spring Court, it is a great honor to be chosen to join the ranks of the Falconers. The bird chooses its partner, you see, not the other way around. There is a bond, similar to the mating bond, between a falcon and its Falconer, who must be High Fae. No one knows why, but I suspect it’s due to the falcon bond’s likeness to the mating bond. Most High Fae would say we’re the only faeries blessed with these bonds because we have a higher emotional capacity than other faeries, which is a load of horseshit. If you ask me, it’s because we’re too thickheaded to choose adequate life partners. Whatever the reason, I lead a small party of fledglings throughout the court every spring, stopping at each of the estates to encourage the bond.

“As a youngster, I dreamed about the falcon bond the way young High Fae females dream of the mating bond. I wanted to protect the court and change the world. My mother was upset she couldn’t dress her only daughter in the high fashion of each season, but my father supported my dream, despite knowing the cost. The day I was chosen, don’t bother asking how many years ago because I cannot remember, was the happiest day of my life. My parents threw a huge gala at our estate, and all my friends came to see me off.

“It wasn’t until the next day, after the guests had left, that I realized I had not been the guest of honor. Instead, I was the sacrificial lamb. My family had been spared the burden of war – only the Falconers are required to fight. The rest of the High Fae enjoy the comforts of their countryside mansions. As I left home, I was sent to slaughter.” Celis’s voice was hard, but it did not shake. She had told this story many times, it seemed.

“My eyes began to change on the journey to the forest, and by the time the pain had subsided and they had settled into what they are today, I had been deposited at a cabin deep within the forest. There were no furnishings, no bed, no carpet or blankets, no fireplace or stove, no windows. Just four walls, a roof, and a door. My falcon, an untrained fledgling, had been tethered atop a tree half a mile or so from the cabin. It was my first lesson: rescue my falcon before he died. My second lesson was to keep myself alive, cold and hungry and alone.

“I didn’t see another faerie for three months, until I found my way to another Falconer’s cabin. When I saw the tattoo covering the left half of his face, I knew I too had been marked during my delirium.

“While our eyes are a necessary conduit between Falconers and falcons, the tattoos serve no purpose other than to label us exiles. The Falconer bond supersedes all other allegiances. We cannot form mating bonds. We do not marry or bear children. We do not have friends, because our childhood friends want nothing to do with us and we cannot bear to acknowledge our marginalized position within society amongst each other. It is better to live alone than to live with a constant reminder that there are hundreds of us who have been treated so.

“I suspect that’s another reason for their tardiness. We don’t spend much time in the company of others. Yesterday was the first time I’d seen another Falconer since our legion went underground after Amarantha’s coup, and I’m the most social of the lot. Why the bastards chose me to lead, I reckon.”

We had paced the length of the Falconer training section, and Celis halted at the riverbank. She hadn’t looked at me while she talked, but we met eyes now, her falcon’s eyes matching my slightly tilted High Fae ones. Eyes she should have had, she _had_ had for the first years of her life. Neither of us had been born with the eyes we now wore. I wondered if she missed her High Fae eyes as much as I missed my human ones. I wondered if the price she paid for them haunted her at night the way my own did.

“The others’ opinions are not as caustic as mine. A small mercy of the falcon bond twists our minds to be content with our situation, to want nothing more than to live alone with our birds.” She paused, and I felt the implication of her words – a silent question whether the mating bond worked the same way. As if she knew. She was asking me, a mated female, if I could spend the rest of my immortal life alone with my mate. And, as though she already knew the answer was _yes_ , she was asking how I could bear to be apart from my mate for so long.

 _Because I have to_ , I wanted to tell her, _because it’s not just about me and him, but about our people and the humans and the future of all those living. Because if I hadn’t spoken to Tamlin, the Spring Court would be sitting ducks when Hybern finishes decimating Prythian and finally turns his eyes here. Because it doesn’t matter that I feel like I am going to shatter at any second without him, because if I do, I won’t be able to do what needs to be done._

I wanted to tell her and shake her until she understood, until I _made_ her understand, and wrap my arms around her and cry on her shoulder. But those were not the actions of a High Lady, no matter that my court was far away. My court was here, too, and the actions of a Lady should not be much different from those of a High Lady.

So I calmed my racing mind and remembered my duty.

“Why?”

“Why?” she repeated my question with a twitch of her eyebrow.

“Why tell me your story, why tell me all this, if your people are content?”

She narrowed her eyes at me, as if I should have guessed the answer. “Just because we are content does not mean that this is right.”

She was telling me to do something about it. To fix the injustices burdened upon the Falconers, exiled for the very bond which allowed them to protect their families.

Her words ran through my mind, images of High Fae throwing parties on their lavish estates while their children are forced to suffer a life of isolation and bloodshed. High Fae exempt from the horrors of war while entire villages of so-called lesser faeries are evacuated, parents conscripted into the Military and children dragged along to perform the daily tasks required to run a war camp.

I ran to vomit at the base of the nearest tree. Celis’s warm hand rubbed my back as I deposited my breakfast on the ground, dry heaving once my stomach had emptied. She stayed with me, for minutes or hours, I didn’t know. When at last I collected myself, there was not an ounce of judgement in her eyes. Just a glimmer of sorrow behind those determined falcon’s eyes.

“You are the Lady of the Spring Court. Do something.”

The cry of a falcon in the forest behind us was met with a louder one as Celis’s magnificent bird dove from the clouds, pulling out of the dive just in time to land on her shoulder. Powerful talons gripped the thick leather that protected her shoulder from being ripped to shreds. This close to the falcon, its deadliness was palpable, and I stepped back slowly so as not to startle it. I did not think Celis would let it hurt me, but, consumed as she was gazing at the birds that now circled the sky, I opted not to take any chances.

I couldn’t find the words to say to her that would adequately express my conviction to deliver justice within the Spring Court.

With a slight bow of my head, I said simply, “I will.”

She didn’t return my nod, just continued to stare at the sky. I backed away to give her privacy with her soldiers. As I was almost out of earshot, she spoke to me.

“That’s why you’re here.”

It was more than a statement, but less than a question. A promise, a hope whispered to the falcons in the sky.


	5. Chapter 5

Celis’s words trailed me all afternoon as I pondered how to involve the High Fae in the war effort. Tamlin was a weak ruler; he would never have the backbone to force them to join the Military alongside the other faeries, though that was the just course of action. I deliberated throughout the day, but I hadn’t reached a conclusion by dinnertime.

Ianthe had been pointedly absent the past two days. Whether away on a furtive mission or avoiding the war effort entirely, I didn’t know. I hoped for the former and dreaded the latter. As much as I hated the High Priestess, her position within the court was prominent enough that her actions would be noted by the army. And while I didn’t agree with her doctrines, the rest of the court did, and the priestesses’ presence would be integral toward maintaining high spirits in a time of war. If they were hiding the way the rest of the High Fae were, it would reflect poorly upon Tamlin’s already questionable leadership.

And _I_ would be pissed.

I wasn’t surprised, then, when she didn’t join me, Lucien, and Tamlin for dinner. Out of his boorish impulse to protect me from the war effort, an effort into which I had already inserted myself and had no intention of abandoning, Tamlin refused to let our conversation dwell on the preparations. Perhaps he believed if he ignored the issue in my presence, I would simply forget the threat Hybern posed to Prythian and the human lands. The fool seemed to have no idea that it was my only reason for remaining at the Spring Court. At least my guise was holding.

But without discussing the war, the only topic any of us actually had any interest in, our conversation was stilted. As if he could sense Tamlin’s own reluctance, Lucien stayed quiet about his meeting with Liv, hoping to stare at his plate until the meal finished.

I could have screamed. Brutes, both of them! With the social skills and emotional capacity of a louse.

It fell to me to rescue this meal from being a total loss. Dusting off my mask of innocence, I plastered it to my face.

“When will the High Fae join the war effort?”

The sound of silverware on plates halted as the two males stopped to stare at me. I’d kept my eyes on my plate as I voiced the question, and I slowly lifted my head to show them my wide, innocent eyes. I furrowed my brow slightly as I looked between the two of them.

Tamlin set down his silverware and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Feyre,” he began with that gentleness I loathed, “The High Fae have contributed much to the war already. They donated their lands to be used as training grounds and their servants to participate in the Military. They sacrificed–” I cringed at the word, the same word Celis had used “–their own children to join the ranks of the Falconers.”

I kept my tone ignorant, noncombative. “You mean – they won’t be fighting?”

“I could not ask them to fight.” He said it as if he’d asked too much of them already. He was a spineless fool.

“But you ask entire villages of other faeries to fight.” An edge of heat in my words, a flash of hurt in my eyes.

“They are _lesser_ faeries.”

“And _I_ was a human!” I stood and braced my hands on the table, leaning toward Tamlin. I kept my eyes on his as I appealed to his stifling love for me. “Yet you loved me and treated me no worse than any other in your court. Do the _other_ faeries not deserve that same devotion? Are we not fighting for them, after all?”

“Of course I am!” he exploded, sending his chair flying backward as he stood to match me. “ _I_ am the High Lord, and _I_ am fighting to protect the Spring Court because of the mess _you_ started!”

Genuine guilt hit me for pushing him too far and undermining the past week of work I’d done to repair our relationship, and I let the emotion break through my mask to appear on my face. I parted my lips slightly and willed tears to collect in my eyes, waiting for Tamlin’s own guilt to hit him. As soon as it appeared, like a splash of fiery red paint on blank canvas, I ran for the door.

When I made it to my room, my frustration got the better of me. I yanked my hair from its elaborate braid, tossing pins haphazardly on the dresser. What had I done wrong? Should I not have pushed him to consider his feelings for me? Evidently not, since his true feelings seemed to be accusation and resentment. Accusation – he _blamed_ me for the war, when it had been his own impulsive actions that had turned Hybern’s immediate attention to us in the first place! He blamed _me_ , when I had spent the past months preparing not one but _two_ courts for this war! It had been _my_ foresight that pushed the Spring Court to rally its armies. If he resented me for that, then he was more of a brute than my tainted opinion of him had led me to believe.

Smoke curled at my fingertips. I threw open the balcony doors and savored the night. Moonlight bathed my bare arms, caressing my face. My eyes closed of their own accord as I inhaled the smell of the stars. I cast my mind out for any who might be watching me but found nothing but a few sentries who gave no more than a single thought to my presence.

Tamlin and Lucien were still in the dining room. I wasn’t angry enough to worm my way through their mental shields, nor was the situation dire enough that I would feel secure in invading their minds.

I opened my eyes and used magic to adjust them to penetrate the darkness. From my balcony, the gardens of the manor spread out before me. A bit away, the forest loomed, not the forest I had traversed many times in my first few months at the Spring Court but the forest of Celis and the Falconers. Their home, their refuge and exile. My eyes weren’t sharp enough to make out any figures among the trees, and for that I was glad. It would have felt like a breach of trust to pry into the asylum against their mistreatment.

With my changed eyes, the moonlight shone brighter on my arms. I willed my eyes back to their Fae form and blinked as they readjusted. My arms still glistened. I must have done something wrong. But I glanced at the forest, and I couldn’t see as well as I had a few moments ago. My surroundings were back to normal, but my arms weren’t. Moonlight didn’t simply illuminate them; it radiated from them, curling slightly as it poured from my skin. Like…

Like how darkness radiated from Rhys when he released the damper on his power.

My breath caught in my throat, and I stumbled back, out of the touch of the moon and into my room once more. Without the moonlight, the effect was less prominent, but a faint glow continued to emit from my arms.

Starlight. I was starlight.

I was becoming the High Lady of the Night Court.

My mental shields felt Tamlin’s presence coming up the stairs. I hastily layered another glamour over my skin to hide my title and, just in time, remembered my mask. If he was coming to apologize, then perhaps my blunder could be salvaged.

A knock at the door, just like last night. This time, though, I opened the door slightly. Sad, desperate eyes peered at me through the crack in the door. 

“Can I come in?” His voice was hoarse.

I swallowed and shook my head. No, he most definitely could _not_ come in. I didn’t trust him alone with me. At night. In my room. And my bed big enough for two.

I eased the door open so that I could squeeze through. I shut it firmly behind me. The implication was clear, but with the door shut, there was little space between me and Tamlin. His arms were braced on the doorframe, on either side of my head. His face was inches from mine. I had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Feyre.” I did _not_ like how close he was to me, and I did _not_ like how my name sounded in that breathy tone. “I… I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean any of what I said. I’m sorry.” His breath was hot against my skin, his green eyes nailing me in place. “I love you more than anything in this world.”

His lips were so close to mine, but he was waiting for me to forgive him. I couldn’t accept his apology without escaping them. I couldn’t afford not to accept his apology.

I had known this moment would come, I just hadn’t thought it would come so soon. With Tamlin so close to me, I couldn’t risk sending a thought to Rhys down the bond before bridging the gap between our mouths.

Tamlin’s kiss was wet. The butterflies that had once flown in my stomach when I felt his touch were long gone. Instead, I felt… nothing. He was boring and disgusting and not my mate. His tongue flicked into my mouth, searching, claiming as he pressed me into the door.

I used the bang of my head on the door as a signal. This had gone on long enough. I placed my hands on his chest and pushed ever so slightly. Not hard enough to spook him, but hard enough to make him _stop_. He tore his mouth from mine and gasped for air. The gold flecks in his eyes had taken on a wild edge. Yes, I needed to stop him _now._

“I forgive you.” My whispered words were accompanied by the calming touch of my hand on his cheek. I had to remind him who I was, why he was here.

He breathed deeply, his eyes never leaving mine, and took a step back. He released the doorframe. A nod of his head was all I got in response before he turned away and retreated to his room.

It was an effort not to wipe my mouth until I was safely back in my room.


	6. Chapter 6

I hadn’t asked Tamlin to offer his winnowing services along with mine and Lucien’s, and he had shone little more than a spark of interest when Lucien had told him of my offer to the villagers at dinner. Before our argument. And our kiss. No, I wouldn’t let myself dwell on the kiss. I had done what I’d had to in order to repair his opinion of me.

The encounter last night had been the most I’d seen of him the past two days, and when I saw no sign of him at the stables, I began to look forward to another day without his overbearing intensity. The stablehands had saddled my horse, and she pawed the dirt, mirroring my own excitement at the day’s task: winnowing the villagers who lived furthest from the training grounds.

I had staggered the winnowing across four days so as not to wear out my magic, but even so, I was not certain how much magic the effort would take. Lucien had promised the villagers that the two of us could easily winnow them, but I couldn’t discern whether the statement had been truth or fiction to protect what an ill-advised idea this was. I was grateful Lucien hadn’t tried to dissuade me.

I mounted my horse, and we set off. Near midmorning, we approached the village. Unlike when we had visited two days ago, the village teemed with activity. Faeries chased chickens to wrangle them into coops that waited at the doorsteps of their houses, along with the rest of their belongings. A swarm of villagers trailed one of the village leaders, asking after their shops, their laundry, their plants, their animals. Invariably underfoot as the adults hurried about, children chased balls in the street.

I made my way to the town square, where Lucien and I had initially delivered the call to arms. A few families were already there, waiting patiently for our arrival. A spark of joy alit in their eyes as they spotted us, almost as if they hadn’t quite believed we would fulfill our offer. It sickened me that they had been so neglected by their ruler to be surprised when one of the High Fae honored a promise to them. Just one of many practices I wished to change within the Spring Court.

As Lucien had predicted, the two of us did make short work of winnowing the villagers to the training grounds. More villagers flooded into the square as they finished packing, and we dispatched them as quickly as they arrived.

Before I knew it, the shadows began to lengthen as the sun dipped toward the horizon. A wave of exhaustion hit me at once, and I felt sore to the bone. We hadn’t stopped for lunch, but I couldn’t tell whether food or sleep sounded more attractive at the moment.

I lost my footing and stumbled a step. Lucien, who no doubt felt equally tired, grabbed my arm to steady me. I shook him off like a flea. Two families remained in the square. Without a word, Lucien extended a hand to the first family and vanished with the faeries and their belongings.

I approached the final family, but the tall female faerie in charge kept her back to me. The three toddlers with her stared at me with wide eyes, and I realized what a fright I must have looked, with dusty cheeks and windswept hair. I hastily tucked errant strands of hair into my braid, which now seemed quite a bit more brown than gold. I reached a hand out to tap the faerie on the shoulder, when I saw that her shoulders were shaking with grief.

“What’s the matter?” I asked gently.

She turned to me, quickly wiping away her tears. “My lady, I’m sorry to have bothered you. I apologize for your inconvenience, but my children and I must make the journey to the training grounds on our own.”

I cast a skeptical glance at her packed bags and her young children. “Are you sure? If you fear winnowing, I can promise that it’s quite safe. It might scare the little ones, but only for the few moments while we’re in transit. That seems like an acceptable risk when the other option is travelling on foot for half a week.”

“It’s not that, my lady.” The faerie shook her head. “I… I’ve misplaced something, and I couldn’t impose upon you to remain while I search for it.”

“It is far from an imposition,” I insisted. “I am more than happy to help search with you. What have you misplaced?”

“My children,” the faerie cried. “These three are the youngest and haven’t yet the ability to run from me, but the others I have no power to stop.” She bawled into her hands, and I placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I will find them.”

Before she had the opportunity to voice another protest, I started through the streets of the village. The village was not so large that I expected to have trouble finding the children, but after scanning the streets twice, I knew I had to change my tactic. I halted at an intersection and listened for the sounds children are so fond of creating. Sure enough, voices drifted to my ears.

Following the noise as silently as if I were tracking a deer, I found myself at the edge of the village. The voices continued toward the forest beyond. At the edge of the forest sat a pile of smooth marble rubble, and around the rubble sat a circle of faerie children of all ages and skin tones. There were so many that I doubted they all belonged to the crying faerie.

As they saw me approach, they stopped their conversation, and the oldest of the group addressed me.

“You can’t make us leave,” she said bravely, though I noted a wobble to her lower lip that threatened her composure.

“Who said anything about leaving?”

“The rest of the village has left. You took them all away, you and that other lord.”

So they had recognized me. “I’m very sorry,” I told them as I looked each of them in the eye. “I don’t want to leave, either. But I’m sure your parents would be happy to see your faces. Won’t you consider joining them to ease their worrying about you?”

One of the smallest faeries sprang to his feet with wide eyes. “You can take us to our parents?”

The older children around him tugged his arms to pull him back to the ground. A female put an arm around his shoulder and smoothed his hair, whispering words too softly for me to catch their meaning. The rest of the children glared at me.

At my confused expression, the child leader explained, “Our parents are dead. Not even the High Lord can take us to them. The statue…” She descended into sobs, and the child by her side continued.

“Our parents rebelled against Amarantha. She brought them Under the Mountain, and they never returned. The village leaders erected the statue in secret to honor their sacrifice, but it was destroyed just after Calanmai last year. The leaders were too afraid to rebuild it, and they’ve been too busy since the curse was lifted.”

“They _forgot_ about it,” cut in another of the older children. “Our parents gave their lives to protect them, and the rest of the village can’t even be bothered to remember them.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” another faerie shot back. “They _can’t_ rebuild it, just like how none of us has been able to move any of the pieces.” She demonstrated her point, placing both hands on a fist-sized piece of rubble and straining against the weight. Or perhaps she was straining against the magic.

“Would you mind if I took a look at it?” I asked all the children, not just those who had spoken. At their nods of assent, I ran a hand along the pieces of the statue. A familiar essence of smoke and darkness greeted me.

Rhys.

Rhys had done this, destroyed the statue and cursed it to remain shattered. The children had said it was just after Calanmai, which was when I first met my mate and when, a few days later, he staked a severed head in Tamlin’s garden. The timing fit.

I circled the statue, searching for a mountain and three stars, the symbol of the Night Court that had also marked the staked head. I made one circle, two, and then on the third, I finally found it. Etched into the jagged face of a piece that lay nearly hidden from sight, my court’s symbol was small but unmistakable.

In an instant, I could see the situation play out in my mind. Amarantha had ordered Rhysand to taunt the Spring Court, and while he had found joy in terrorizing Tamlin – “Exactly what the High Lord of the Night Court would find amusing,” I remembered him telling me – he was devastated to destroy a monument to those who had defied Amarantha’s tyranny. He concealed the marking to spare the villagers from further sorrow, not from a desire to remain blameless.

Without thought, I placed both hands on the largest piece of marble. I reached for my magic, so distant, so slippery, and with only my will left to strengthen me, I called forth the power of the night. As I had done in the Summer Court to enter Tarquin’s cove, I stroked the curse on the statue with my magic. My magic, not Rhys’s. This time, rather than tricking it into believing me to be the original source, I urged the curse to obey me as its High Lady. I did not need to be Rhysand because I was his equal in rank. The curse recognized the touch of the Night Court, and it writhed under my fingers. I smothered it with my will, starlight and moonshine to counteract the swirling darkness. Slowly, ever slowly, I pried the curse free of the stones until a swirling ball of light and darkness formed in my trembling hands. I closed my eyes and brought my hands together.

Cries arose from the children as those who had been leaning against the rubble slid to the ground with the release of the curse. The children scrambled away from the ruined statue as if disturbing the rubble would disgrace the memory of their parents. When I dared open my eyes, I saw nothing in my hands except a faint coating of mist, like dew on morning grass.

Exhaustion threatened to topple me from my crouch at the foot of the statue, but I placed my hands on a large piece of marble to steady myself. Spots bloomed in my vision as I made to stand, and a voice from behind said my name. A faraway thought registered the voice as Lucien’s. He must have come in search of me when he found I had left the square in search of the children.

I hadn’t loosened my grip on my magic, and before I lost my nerve, I called upon my gifts from the High Lords. Spring to shape the rubble into what it had once been. Dawn to heal the rifts between the pieces. Autumn to fuse the jagged faces of the marble back together. Night to impose my will upon the statue.

Piece by piece, the pile of rubble reconstructed itself into the statue of an enormous gladiolus plant that towered over me. A faerie face rested in the middle of each blossom – each parent who had sacrificed for their children. Elain had once tried to explain to me the language of flowers, that every flower was characterized by a set of traits and emotions. The gladiolus symbolized strength and honor, an apt choice to honor the faeries. The marble shone like it had been newly polished, and the cracks had been smoothed away with fire from the Autumn Court.

Lost in my magic, I had been unaware of the children around me. As I released the last trickle of magic, I again remembered my audience and my fatigue. No sounds, however, came from the children behind me. My knees shook as I gathered the last shreds of my strength to stand. Lucien made to rush to my side and aid me, but I stalled him with the briefest glare. I longed to accept his help, but I couldn’t. Not yet.

I didn’t trust myself to take a steadying hand off the statue as I looked to the children. Every face was blank with wonder, lips slightly parted and eyebrows nearly reaching hairlines. I offered them a small smile.

“Are you the High Lady?”

The little voice jarred me to the core. My smile faltered a moment, and I searched for the child who had asked. None claimed to have spoken. All looked to me expectantly, waiting for an answer. I dared not spare a glance at Lucien, who too waited to judge my answer.

I chose my words carefully and spoke to the children. “It is my responsibility to care for all members of my court. Whether as Lady or High Lady, that will always be my highest duty, and I will always do everything in my power to accomplish it.” My smile widened as I noticed the children’s foster mother standing at the edge of the children’s circle. “And now, my duty must inform all of you that your mother has been terribly worried over you. With your permission, I would like to reunite you with your neighbors.”

The children caught my glance toward their foster mother and squealed when they saw her. In their excitement, a few of the younger faeries ran to her, clutching her skirts tightly. The older children continued to hold my gaze, and one by one, they each gave me a slight nod. A nod of respect, and of gratitude, and of acceptance. I returned the nod back to them, the same nod of respect and gratitude and acceptance.

Lucien had winnowed the foster mother, toddlers, and younger children, and he reappeared among the older children. They looked between me and him, a hint of wariness remaining in their eyes.

I laughed. “I did not remake the statue only for it to be left behind,” I assured them, guessing their final reservation. “Yes, we will bring the statue to the training grounds.”

Then, the older children too, free of their skepticism and solitude and distrust, broke into smiles. They accepted Lucien’s offered hand, and he placed his other on the statue. I lifted my hand from the statue an instant before they disappeared. Alone and without the statue to support me, I sank to my knees.

A time later, I awakened to the rhythm of footsteps. My head lay against a male body, and strong arms held me in the air. I breathed in, exhilarating in the citrus and salt smell of my mate.

But no, this smell was different. Not citrus and salt, but embers and leaves. Not Rhys, but Lucien.

I blinked and saw the forest overhead. Lucien was carrying me back to the manor, leading both our horses.

“Let me down,” I told him gently. “I have strength enough to ride.”

He looked into my clear eyes and did as I asked. Silently handing me my reigns, he mounted his horse as I mounted mine. The sun had set while I was unconscious, and we were far from the manor. Though he voiced not a word of complaint, I knew Lucien was as tired as I.

“We have to stop for the night.” He must have been more exhausted than I had thought, because he didn’t protest. “Let’s find an inn at the village we’re to evacuate tomorrow.”

We arrived at the village an hour later. The villagers gave us a warm welcome despite our ragged appearance and showed us to rooms. I couldn’t find the energy to remove my boots before falling facedown on the bed.


	7. Chapter 7

Anxiety awoke me before dawn. In my exhaustion the previous night, I hadn’t soaked my aching muscles, which I knew would trouble me today if I continued to neglect them. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and straightened my clothes before heading downstairs to order breakfast and a bath.

This early in the morning, the inn was nearly empty save for the innkeeper crouched before the fireplace to rekindle last night’s embers and a barmaid hanging a few newly-washed mugs. He recognized me immediately, sending for runners to fetch porridge and hot water before I opened my mouth to request either. He stood and brushed ashes from his apron, and he performed a precise bow as he pulled out a chair for me at the nearest table.

“Good morning, my lady,” he greeted me as if it was a perfectly normal hour for one of his customers to rise. “Your breakfast shall arrive within a few moments, and your bath will be steaming by the time you’ve finished. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

I made a mental note to give the faerie a generous tip. “Do you have paper and ink?”

“Of course, my lady.” He bowed again as he retreated into the back room. A minute later, he reappeared with writing tools and a small package wrapped in brown paper and tied in twine. “Here are the tools you requested; please let me know if the inkwell runs dry or if you need more paper. I’ve sent for a messenger, who will be here in a couple minutes if you’ve need to deliver a message. This just arrived for you. I apologize profusely, but I could not track down a sender.” He set the items on the table just as a faerie appeared with a bowl of porridge and a cup of hot tea. “Enjoy your meal, and do not hesitate to ask if you need anything else.” With a final bow, the innkeeper returned to tending the fire.

The smell of the porridge dulled all thoughts of my message and the package. My stomach growled, and I burned my mouth as I began shoveling the food in. I nearly moaned – it was the most delicious porridge I’d ever consumed. The bowl emptied seemingly of its own accord as my stomach fought to keep up with my voracity. I let out a small sigh, wrapping my hands around the teacup to keep warm. My mind cleared with each sip.

First the letter, then the bath.

I unstopped the inkwell and began to write. The letter was to Tamlin, detailing my and Lucien’s whereabouts and plans for the next few days. I’d been foolish to believe we would be alert enough to return to the manor after a day of winnowing. Although, it was a good sign that Tamlin hadn’t torn the village apart searching for me when I didn’t return last night. I shuddered to remember the bedroom he’d destroyed during my time at the Night Court, sheets shredded and wood clawed beyond repair. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep him updated; I didn’t want to push the space he’d given me too far too soon.

I kept the letter short, and the messenger arrived as I tossed sand onto the letter to dry the ink. He waited patiently behind me while I poured a drop of deep green wax to seal the envelope. It was then that I realized my error. I didn’t have a signet ring. I could make an impression in the wax using magic, but I would have to choose my sigil wisely. A frivolous part of me longed to use a mountain and three stars. I was smart enough not to even consider the idea, but perhaps the sigil didn’t have to be wholly deceptive. Perhaps I could work my allegiance to the Night Court into the design.

A flower of the night.

Jasmine.

A single jasmine blossom surrounded by vines that swirled like my tattoo.

I sketched the image on a blank sheet of paper to solidify it in my mind’s eye before attempting to print it into the wax. When I felt confident, I transformed the skin on the tip of my finger into a metal engraving of the sigil. Grasping my magic was like using a sore muscle the day after heavy training – painful, but within reach. I really had to bathe as soon as possible, otherwise the next three days would be truly unbearable.

Handing the sealed letter and a silver coin to the messenger, I pushed back my chair and left a few more coins on the table for the innkeeper. With a final glance at the table before starting for my room, I spotted the mysterious package. Its weight was heavier than I had expected, and a few gentle shakes yielded the sound of clinking glass.

I had unknotted the twine by the time I reached my room. The paper came away easily to reveal a simple box, no lettering or design to mark its origin. I lifted the lid.

Inside sat a small vial of clear oil. I gripped my magic tightly as I loosened the stopper. It was likely unwise to sniff the vial without a clue as to the sender or the contents, but I was too impatient to wait until I returned to Tamlin’s manor. Besides, if any harm did come to me, Lucien was in the next room over. Sleeping, yes, but still accessible.

Peppermint and rosemary hit my nose. My brow wrinkled in confusion. Someone sent me perfume? I covered the opening of the vial with my wrist and upended it once, rubbing the drop of oil onto my wrist. I yelped and nearly dropped the vial when the oil hit my skin.

By the Cauldron, it felt _good_. Hot and cold at the same time, tingling where it touched my skin. I could only imagine how it would feel on my aching muscles…

I massaged a drop onto my left shoulder and sank to the ground, resting my forehead on the tub... the _bathtub_. I couldn’t take off my clothes fast enough. I poured five drops of the precious oil into the steaming water and, stoppering the vial, placed it reverently on the side table. Tears sprang to my eyes as I eased myself into the tub. I could practically feel the tension easing as the oil worked itself into my muscles. I never wanted to leave, never wanted to _move_ again. I could bask in this bliss for years, for the rest of my immortal life.

This had to be a product of the Dawn Court, infused with special healing properties. But in a village this far removed from the heart of the Spring Court, who could possibly have ties to the Dawn Court?

My curiosity pulled me from my languid haze. I reached to reexamine the box in which it had arrived. I rifled through the crumpled paper meant to protect the vial, unsuccessful at finding any hint until… _there._ The corner of a small notecard fitted into the very bottom of the box peeked out at me.

The tears which had already gathered in my eyes flooded down my cheeks as I beheld my mate’s handwriting.

 _Feyre darling,_ it read, _You work too hard. I expect you to return in one piece. I love you._

I could hear his soft purr in my head as I read the words. The teasing tone, the sound of my name on his lips. I fought to reread the note through my tears, angrily wiping them away as they threatened my vision. As I flung out my arm, I knocked over the candle illuminating the room. The light flickered out, and I was left in darkness. Except for the faint glimmer of my skin, which in my emotion I must have released. I cried harder as I beheld the black whorls of my tattoo illuminated by stars through the window.

I closed my eyes and saw the twinkle of Rhys’s violet eyes, amusement a mask for genuine concern for my wellbeing, a concern no other in my life had ever shown. Not Tamlin, not my father nor my sisters. Not Lucien, who had so hoped I would die trying to capture the Suriel. Not Isaac, for whom I’d only been a means to satisfy his desire.

No, only Rhys had ever looked at me and _cared_. Cared enough to save me from withering to dust not once but twice, Under the Mountain and during my engagement, no matter the cost to his safety. Cared enough to see me for anything other than an illiterate human or a prized mare to be won. Cared enough to respect my needs, my wants, my decisions. Even my decision to leave him.

I hadn’t heard from him since his first report on Cassian and Azriel’s recovery. When I had told him we couldn’t risk communicating down the bond for fear of my discovery. He had respected that decision, too.

I could still feel the bond between us, an ever-present bridge of black adamant connecting our minds. But, empty of travelers, it sat like a gaping hole leading to nowhere. I knew if I inched along, it would lead me to him, but with the distance between us, I couldn’t sense his end. I couldn’t sense _him_. The black adamant that had always reminded me of Rhys had slowly turned stoic and indifferent. Instead of comforting me, it reinforced my isolation.

Perhaps that was for the best. After Tamlin’s kiss, I wasn’t quite sure how to face my mate. Guilt gnawed at my stomach for the act. Oh how I wished to speak with Rhys, to explain my absence and my betrayal, to show him I loved him with every fiber of my being, to hold him in my arms and never let go. I would beg his forgiveness. Even if he didn’t grant it – which under no circumstances should he – I needed to put my apology into words, memorialized so that, when the story was over and I was remembered as a traitor, I wouldn’t be remembered as a coward as well.

Trapped in my thoughts, I found myself halfway down the bridge. I steeled my mind back toward myself, but my soul kept inching toward Rhys. How could I go on like this? I had barely begun my work at the Spring Court. I was making progress, yes, but it was so terribly slow. Change cannot happen overnight, I knew. I knew too well and too painfully.

No, that was wrong. The change I would make within the Spring Court would be slow, but not painful. I _had_ enjoyed my time with the villagers, with Celis, and I would feel no regret at improving their lives. The painful part was missing Rhys.

I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing they were his, holding me tightly to his chest as I inhaled the citrus and sea scent of him. But I smelled peppermint and rosemary instead, and fat tears splashed into the bathwater as I bowed my head to remember that I was alone.


	8. Chapter 8

The bathwater was cold by the time the sun rose, and I was reluctant to reheat the water with my magic, inwardly cringing away from touching that remaining aching limb. Braving the cold, I quickly washed my hair and body and stepped from the tub. I had nothing to wear but my blue and gold dress from yesterday, but it would suffice for today’s work. Perhaps tonight I could wash it in the bath.

I twisted my damp hair into a braid and dared a look in the mirror. My eyes were rimmed with red, but my cheeks betrayed no flush of color. It would have to do. If Lucien asked, I’d blame the redness on residual fatigue.

He answered the door when I knocked, returning to his bed to tug on his boots. His Military uniform was coated in a thin layer of dust, but those black boots shone as brightly as they had yesterday morning. I hadn’t recovered enough to feel a glimmer of amusement at the thought of Lucien’s tender care for his footwear. In a better mood, I’d make a snide comment. Now, I just waited wordlessly for him.

“How are you feeling?”

I panicked for a moment before I realized he remarked on yesterday’s exertion, not my tear-stained eyes.

“I’m fine,” I replied automatically.

It wasn’t until Lucien’s eyes narrowed in suspicion at the comment that I surveyed myself. I flexed my toes and fingers, and I twisted my neck. I _was_ fine. No hint of soreness remained. I felt a stab of pity for Lucien and his muscles which likely ached horribly. A sense of bitter triumph stifled the feeling. If he wasn’t such a prick, perhaps someone would care about him as much as my mate cared for me.

I hated myself for the thought and vowed to share a bit of the healing oil with him tonight.

“A little sore, but I’ll manage,” I added. “You?”

“I’ll live. Ready?”

Like me, he had already eaten, so we headed straight for the town square. Similar to yesterday, we were greeted with warm welcomes and endless thanks. A small group of villagers had already assembled in the square when we arrived.

Gritting my teeth, I reached for my magic. My sadness had turned to anger, and I was prepared to wrestle with my magic for control.

I braced myself for the pain, but none came. Magic leapt to my fingertips as if it had been waiting for me. An irrational wave of frustration washed over me. Why did Rhys have to be so gods-damned _perfect_? The oil had healed not only my muscles, but my magic as well. I felt fresh as a summer – no, a _spring_ day.

The ridiculous thought brought forth a laugh from within me. Lucien was giving me the strangest look, and, to see it, the fake laughter turned genuine. The smile I had plastered on my face finally touched my eyes. I had a mate who loved me, and I had people who depended on me. I would not let them down.

I held out a hand to the nearest family, and we disappeared with the morning breeze.

♦♦♦

Today, Lucien and I took a break for lunch. Nonstop magic use had been the cause of our exhaustion yesterday, and we were determined not to make the same mistake again. As the porridge had been this morning, the stew at the inn this afternoon was incredible. Lucien agreed. We begged the innkeeper for his secrets, but he was tight-lipped. When his back was turned, though, the cook sneaked out from the kitchen and whispered to us.

“Mead and cream in the porridge,” he said with a wink. At our bewildered faces, he put a finger to his upturned mouth and crept back to the kitchen.

Among the secrets beholden by the stew was its ability to thoroughly revive both of us. Lucien opted to finish his ale while I stepped into the streets to explore the village. I found no children in need of miracles – although what child _doesn’t_ need a miracle?

I joined a group of children passing a ball between each other. With Spring and a touch of Dawn, I turned the ball to a butterfly, landing it on each of the children’s noses. Three children drew figures in the mud, and I brought the scene to life, wiggling the water within the mud to make the images dance. Their smiles split their faces, just as broad as the one on my face.

I was practically skipping back to the inn when I realized what I had been doing. Entertaining the children, yes, but something else as well. I stumbled to a stop.

I’d been manipulating them, painting wondrous portraits of myself in their heads. Making them trust _me_ , while their faith in Tamlin was tenuous. I’d thought my actions were purely altruistic, but what deeper motive lurked within me? Had I become so callous that I would stoop to using these children – these kind, innocent children – to further my own ambition within the Spring Court?

I caught my reflection in a store window. Who _was_ I? What did I _want_?

A High Fae female looked back at me. She was of middling height, with a gold-brown braid and freckles. Her dress was rumpled, but with her straight back and strong eyes, none would take her for disheveled or uncertain.

When had I developed that posture? When had I grown comfortable in my faerie body? My reflection was confident, self-assured. In control of her body and her fate.

And despite wearing the demure fashion of the Spring Court, she looked every inch a High Lady.

When Rhys had asked me to rule the Night Court at his side, I hadn’t given a thought to duty. I’d only thought of my love for him and a desire for freedom, to remain by his side wherever he went instead of being locked inside like a caged bird. I hadn’t considered my worthiness as a ruler, only my own self-centered motives.

That was wrong. I should have considered my worth, because I _hadn’t_ deserved the title. Yes, I’d joined Rhys’s Inner Circle, stolen the Book from the Summer Court and met with the human queens to prepare against Hybern, but my actions had been selfish. Hybern threatened my human and faerie families, so I fought him. When he’d attacked Velaris, I’d protected the Rainbow because _I_ had felt a connection to the artists. Every move I’d made had been selfishly-motivated. 

My work here was different. Tamlin and Lucien were not my family – the very opposite, in fact. Yet I wanted to protect the Spring Court, I wanted to enact change in its prejudiced ways. And not simply to practice for when I returned to ‘my’ people, but because I saw problems and knew I could fix them. Since the Spring Court certainly lacked a competent High Lord…

The child’s words from yesterday echoed in my ears. _Are you the High Lady?_

I wasn’t, but… I _wanted_ to be.

Tamlin barely listened to my advice, and he’d instantly dismissed my plea to involve the High Fae in the war. If I was High Lady, though, I wouldn’t have to appeal to him for the change I sought – I could execute it as I saw fit.

With a wry smile, I remembered Tamlin hadn’t even wanted his title, and though he protected it as fiercely as he protected me, he clearly wasn’t happy with it. Petitions wore on his temper, and I had not once seen him return from a diplomatic meeting in anything other than a sour mood. He lived for magic and for Nature, not for his court.

I raised an eyebrow at myself in the window. _Could_ I legally be High Lady of two courts?

On the brink of war, there was no one to stop me.

I continued to turn the idea about in my head as I made my way back to the inn. Remembering my initial hesitation about manipulating the village children, I dismissed it. Their smiles had been my primary goal, and if a secondary goal lurked beneath the surface, then I was killing two birds with one stone. I had done terrible things, awful things that still kept me awake some nights, but this was not one of them.

Lucien had finished his ale by the time I returned, and we finished the day’s winnowing with little trouble. As we had last night, we decided to find an inn at the next village.

Once we were settled in, I knocked on his door. He’d removed his Military jacket, and I spotted a steaming tub in the room behind him. Perfect timing.

With an omniscient smile – which he called me an ass for – I extended the vial of healing oil to him.

“Just save some for me,” I told him mysteriously as I darted away. Through the wall between our rooms, I heard his contented sigh.

He stopped calling me names after that.


	9. Chapter 9

Okay, he didn’t stop calling me names. But our relationship _did_ begin to change.

The next evening in the next village, he offered me a bit of his personal stash of snuff. We’d dined and bathed, but the healing oil worked beautifully and neither of us were ready to abandon the night to sleep. Restlessness drew us toward one another, I supposed.

I’d never tried snuff before. After my father lost his fortune, we hardly had money for food, let alone luxuries. Occasionally, I had noticed Tamlin and Lucien smoking on the balcony, but I’d been pointedly excluded from these testosterone-fueled events. Among my family at the Night Court, only Amren ever partook in the drug, lazing in her apartment as she blew patterns of smoke mirrored in her eyes. When I’d asked her to show me how it was done, she merely laughed and breathed smoke in my face.

But I was curious and bored, and Lucien had surprised me with the offer. It was… generous. More generous than I’d ever seen from him. Between this and the political grace he’d demonstrated with the villagers, I began to wonder if I had perhaps been too quick to judge his character. Yes, he was still the same male who’d stood by doing nothing to stop Tamlin’s mistreatment of me. But I couldn’t help but envision who he would be if I had met him in less tumultuous times.

We ordered a bottle of wine, and I cracked it open as Lucien prepared the pipe. He scolded me when I tried to look over his shoulder to watch his movements, so I lay on his bed, letting my damp hair spread out in a fan around my head, and began on a second glass of wine.

When the pipe was finally ready, he brought it over and sat next to me. With a snap of his fingers, smoke started curling from the pipe. It smelled awful, like burned tar mixed with damp leaves.

“Scared?” he taunted when he saw my nose wrinkle in distaste.

I quickly smoothed the wrinkle. “If a baby like you can put up with the flavor, I have no doubt I can too.”

Setting my glass aside, I reached for the pipe, and Lucien let me take the first drag.

Smoke filled my lungs, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe. I nearly dropped the pipe as I dissolved into a fit of coughing, but Lucien caught it, foxlike with his own fit of laughter.

“Ha! You are scared.”

“Am – not,” I choked out between coughs.

With insufferable smugness, he lifted the pipe to his lips, inhaled, and blew an exaggerated ring of smoke in my face, just as Amren had.

I smacked him upside the head. He just laughed harder. Soon, I was laughing too.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to demand him to show me the trick of making smoke figures. When he passed the pipe back to me, I inhaled, careful not to let it tickle my throat, and seized my power. Wind wrapped around the smoke as I exhaled, contorting it into a halo that I rested upon my head. There. Let him chew on _that_.

Lucien’s eyes went wide. “That’s cheating!”

“Is not! I created it all on my own.”

“With _magic_!”

“What else is magic but the result of hours of practice, a sharpened blade, a fine-tuned instrument?

“Now who’s being pretentious?”

I couldn’t deny the accusation, and he won that argument. Passing the pipe back to him, I poured myself another glass of wine. My head felt heavy, and once again, I lay back on the bed. I quickly realized how difficult it was to drink wine laying down and gave up on the idea. A faint ring of haze rimmed my brain, echoing the haze of smoke that now coated the room. I spoke before I thought.

“Lucien?”

He didn’t take his attention from the pipe. “Yeah?”

“How do you work so well with the villagers?”

He turned to me at that. “Feyre, you’re the one they idolize, not me. You saved them from Amarantha’s curse, and now you’re leading the war effort. Not to mention all the rumors about…” he stumbled for a moment, “Your powers.”

I knew what he meant to say, and I dreaded the thought of village gossip about my messy relationships with Tamlin and Rhys. Ignoring, for the moment, that can of worms, I plowed along.

“But you’re a High Lord’s son who forsook his own court. I’m sure there are plenty of rumors about you as well, yet the villagers talk with you openly, honestly. I can barely get them to stop bowing left and right, let alone to have a conversation with me.”

“Some people would enjoy that, you know.”

I didn’t respond. He sat back beside me, and together we stared at the wooden beams bracing the ceiling.

“I knew I would never be High Lord,” he said finally. “My brothers were stronger and more cutthroat than me. Among them, I stood out as the weakling, so I decided not to stand with them. I flitted between courts, opting to spend my time with other faeries rather than High Fae. At first, it was just to spite my family and cause a scene, but the more time I spent with them, the more I realized that our connection was deeper than a need to rebel. Our relationship began over mutual distaste for the High Fae, whose pretention and prejudices toward the _lesser_ faeries infuriated them and hit a bit too close to home for me–” the slight emphasis he placed on the derogatory label suggested he felt the same as I did about it “–but we bonded over the realization that, despite my appearance and heritage, we weren’t so different from each other.”

He had stopped generalizing. Hearing the sorrow that edged his tone, a sorrow so deep that it can only stem from lost love, I knew he was talking about his faerie lover. The one whose execution his father had forced him to watch. Tamlin had told me the story, but listening to Lucien’s own words embodied it with this profound sadness that the High Lord had been unable to convey. I’d been sickened and shocked and horrified the first time I’d heard it – this time, tears trickled down my cheeks. I couldn’t help but imagine myself in Lucien’s place: if Rhys ever revealed his half-Illyrian heritage, the other High Lords would forever view him as unworthy, lesser than them. A second-rate High Lord.

Neither of us dared look at each other, keeping our eyes fixed on the indifferent ceiling. Lucien finally broke our silence with a feigned cough as he continued. 

“All of which is to say that when I see someone without pointed ears or with colored skin, I welcome them as friends, rather than dismissing them.” The sorrow was gone, replaced with piercing bitterness before he softened his tone. “I treat them as I would have wanted my father to treat me.”

At that, he laughed. “So just don’t be a jerk, and you’ll get along just fine.” He gave me a shove that sent me tumbling off the bed.

And onto the half-filled wineglass I had placed on the floor.

The glass shattered. No shards tore my Fae skin, but my bathrobe turned a vibrant purple. Lucien’s laugh had cut off when he heard the crash, and he quickly brought it back when he saw me unhurt, dripping wine.

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a glare. Instead, I let a smile creep to my lips as I summoned wind to collect the glass shards into a tornado, whirling it about in my palm with a lazy finger.

The look on his face was priceless. His eyes closed against his will as I pointed that commanding finger at him, bracing himself for a thousand specks of glass. As much as I would have enjoyed shredding his face, I chose the more mature option to mold the shards into a smooth sphere, which I offhandedly dropped on his foot as I headed for the door.

He let out a yelp and a glare, and with a laugh, I disappeared.

I couldn’t help but to end the night with a soft _Thanks for all your help_ pressed into his mind.


	10. Chapter 10

Tamlin was waiting for us when we returned to the manor. I’d sent messengers ahead to keep him updated on our progress, but he’d never sent any of them back with a return message, so I wasn’t sure of his attitude toward our prolonged absence.

_Prolonged absence_ , I thought with a sneer. We’d been gone four days, yet there was Tamlin stationed at the front steps, anticipation written across his face. Ianthe was by his side, returned from whatever hideout she’d been spinelessly occupying since the war council. At least her posture didn’t betray her cowardice. Her shoulders were thrown back, and her chin jutted so high in the air it was a wonder she didn’t have a crick in her neck. The blue gem she wore atop her forehead had been traded for a red one that glowed with sentient intensity. It suited her better, matching her deep red lips and painted fingernails. Once, I had been unable to see the color without vomiting.

From behind them, stablehands and servants ran to tend to our horses and collect our dusty cloaks. After a brief handshake and half-embrace to welcome Lucien, Tamlin scooped me up in his arms, nearly twirling me in the air. As he set me on the ground, his lips captured mine. He pressed his body into mine, and I felt a hardness between his legs.

With a hand to his cheek, I broke the kiss, murmuring a protest about my travel-worn state.

“I don’t care,” he whispered into my ear. His breath was hot and implied a need for more than just a kiss from me. “I missed you. Very much.”

By the Cauldron, this male was desperate – I’d only been gone four days! _Four days!_

“And I missed you,” I assured him.

Behind us, Lucien cleared his throat. My knight in shining armor. As if he had broken a trance over Tamlin, the High Lord straightened, pressing a final kiss to my brow.

“Come, you two must be famished. Dinner is ready.”

Leaving the servants to unload our belongings, he led us into the manor. As I passed Ianthe, she gave me a smile that dripped sweet venom.

“I trust your trip went well?” I asked before she could say a word.

Her brow furrowed, and her chin lowered a tad before she remembered herself. She gathered her pristine white robes around her and lifted her chin even higher than it had been, if that was possible. The gem gleamed in the fading daylight.

“Oh, it was quite beneficial.” Her tone was as haughty as I’d ever heard it. “Days of silent fasting and praying to curry the gods’ favor have paid off. The gods are on our side, and the priestesses are ready for battle.”

So she hadn’t been hiding. I might have regarded her in a slightly better light had she not laid a patronizing hand on my arm at my confusion.

“Surely you didn’t expect us to sit around while the rest of you seize all the glory! We act as conduits to the gods, allowing their power to flow through us to heal the injured. In body as well as in spirit.” The look she gave me indicated _I_ was one of those poor in spirit. Between the condescension and her words extolling the war, I didn’t trust myself not to snap at her and remained silent.

We entered the dining room, and, as promised, a lavish spread was laid out before us. A whole fish had been stuffed with oranges and roasted over a spit, fresh-caught this morning, and fluffy biscuits and mushrooms sautéed in wine rested on either side of the fish. As soon as the smells hit my nose, my stomach growled.

I sat on Tamlin’s left, Lucien on his right and Ianthe at Lucien’s other side.

“I hear _your_ trip was a success, as well,” Tamlin said as he filled my plate with fish and vegetables. “In fact, there have been murmurs in the camp of miracles performed by the High Lady Feyre.”

Lucien choked on his wine.

I would have done the same, had I taken a sip of mine at that moment.

Too soon. I wasn’t prepared to broach this topic yet. I hadn’t laid the proper groundwork or constructed my arguments. Right now, I had no hope of persuading him to raise me to High Lady. But later, in a week or in a month, my position would be weak if today I brushed off the idea. This conversation had to occur now.

I took a long drink of wine to steady myself and buy myself time.

“Oh?” I settled on a tone of faint amusement. “Tell me about these miracles. I thought that was Ianthe’s territory.”

The priestess couldn’t decide whether to be pleased or offended at that.

“I seem to remember hearing about water animals and sentient… mud?” There was a twinkle in his eye. “Ah yes, and something about a cursed statue?”

“Hmm,” I mused into my wine. “Very interesting, indeed.”

“To be honest, she’s been a bit of a show-off.”

Lucien let out a yelp as I flicked his head with a thread of wind.

The question of my title seemed to be postponed for the time being, and dinner finished with no further mention of my ‘miracles’. That twinkle in Tamlin’s eye, at first playful, turned predatory throughout the meal. More than a few times, I caught his gaze on me. When his hand came to rest on my thigh, Lucien and Ianthe found flimsy reasons to excuse themselves from the table. They knew what he wanted. _I_ knew what he wanted.

I drowned myself in wine. I must have finished a whole bottle on my own, but by the time Lucien and Ianthe left, my head wasn’t nearly as fuzzy as it needed to be for what came next.

I considered casting a glamour, sending a fake Feyre to be touched in my place, but I dismissed the idea. I had to be there, to monitor his moods, to pursue my title at the most opportune moment. If I had to sleep with him to become High Lady, it was a fair tradeoff. As much as it twisted my stomach.

As much as it would kill my mate.

As much as I would hate myself afterward.

As I finished my last glass of wine, the hand on my thigh roamed higher and higher. I tossed back the rest of the wine in one gulp and grasped that creeping hand. We rose, and I led him upstairs.

Tamlin was all wrong. His lips were wrong, his scent was wrong, his body was wrong. In his arms, I was not his equal. I was his female, to be claimed and devoured. His need to dominate was stronger than usual – whether from our separation or my question, I didn’t know. The gentle tone I wanted to strangle him for using with me was gone. In its place, tight hands gripped me, protecting me, keeping me from abduction. Keeping me from escape.

Each thrust was a knife to my heart. Each kiss left an itch I wished to scratch until I drew blood. I prayed to the useless gods, the blasted Cauldron, that Rhys would never find out about this night. I had masked the bond between us, but the stars through the window watched everything that happened in that room. I begged their silence, and their forgiveness.

He roared as he finished, and he brought his head between my thighs. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing feigned sighs from my lips, but that wasn’t enough to satisfy him. He could tell I hadn’t climaxed, and he wouldn’t release my body until I did. I had to do better. I had to convince him.

I willed Rhys’s face into my mind, studying his lips, his arms, his chest, his wings on the back of my eyelids. Those were _his_ hands on my thighs, his mouth consuming me. I imagined tracing a finger along his swirling tattoos, threading my hands through his silken hair. I remembered my desire from the cabin, the inn, the Court of Nightmares.

Finally, finally, it worked. Climax raced through me, and Tamlin released my legs. His arms wrapped around me, pressing my back to his chest. I resented the touch, but the sex was over. Blessedly, it was over.

His breathing began to even. Now was my chance.

I reached a hand to stroke the face behind me. His arms loosened as I turned over to face him. I made sure his sleepy eyes were on mine as I said, “Would it really be the worst thing if I was your High Lady?” I curled a strand of his golden hair around my finger and pressed a whisper of a kiss to his jawline. “Just imagine. The two of us … you and me … ruling side by side … Forever.” The kisses continued between each phrase, trailing up toward his earlobe. I nipped his earlobe at the same moment I tightened his hair on my finger. He gave me a deep, breathy laugh.

“Nights like this,” I breathed into his ear, “Every night. No worry of my safety. I’d have diplomatic immunity.” It was hard to make those words sexy, so I wrapped one of my legs around his.

Almost on top of him now, I tilted his head up and met my lips to his in a kiss infused with as much passion as I could muster. “Please,” I asked when I opened my eyes at last. “Just think about it.”

I settled my head on his chest. A hand rested on my shoulder, the other on my exposed waist.

My wine-leaden eyelids closed, and I was almost asleep when he spoke.

“We’ll see.”

♦♦♦

Tamlin was gone when I woke, but his touch lingered on my body, phantom hands crawling across my skin. I ripped the sheets – silken sheets, extravagantly luxurious and likely worth a fortune – from the bed, crumpled them in a ball, and burned them to ash with a touch of fire as I threw them in the air. Soot rained from the ceiling, turning every inch of the room to a black wasteland. Appropriate. Rage addled my mind too much to care about the cost of the damage.

The ash that settled on my skin was a blanket against those phantom hands only for a moment. An instant later, the sensation returned stronger than before, fueled by the ash that irritated my skin. I raked my nails through the skin of my arms, my back, my legs, itching away Tamlin’s touch as I had wanted to last night. Ash and flesh collected under my nails as I drew blood. Where ash touched my scratches, they stung.

I welcomed the pain. I needed it. I deserved it.

In the mirror on the wall, I caught a glimpse of myself. Errant admiration of my cinder-black hair wandered across my mind, and I wondered if I should permanently dye my hair black to match Rhys’s. The eyes of a traitor looked back at me.

I had a raging headache from last night’s wine, and my head pounded, complementing my fury with an angry chorus of drums. I wanted to scream, I wanted to hit something, I wanted to hit _Tamlin_. It should be _his_ skin, not mine, bleeding from my jagged nails as I clawed his eyes from their sockets. He should be on his knees, begging forgiveness for every unwanted kiss, every subjugating caress. I was his equal by law; he should not have been allowed to touch me like that. _I_ shouldn’t have allowed him to touch me like that.

It hadn’t been worth it. He’d barely listened to my plea to become High Lady. ‘We’ll see’ means ‘no’ if I’d ever heard it.

I couldn’t do that again. I wanted to help the Spring Court, I truly did, but I’d have to find another way. I could welcome the villagers and the Falconers into Velaris, or I could arrange for Tamlin’s assassination…

No. I wouldn’t stoop that low, however much I burned to. But I would find a way to help them, High Lady or not.

The itch from the ash that creeped along my skin became unbearable. Trying to brush it from my body only resulted in smearing it deeper into my open scrapes.

A bath. I needed a bath.

I turned on the faucet and heated the water past scalding. I wanted to burn, I wanted to boil. Poached Feyre for breakfast. With a hefty side of guilt and rage.

The water turned black immediately after I lowered myself into the bath. I stepped out again to drain the water, and my skin was just as dark as before I got in the bath. I was heartbeats away from screaming. The ash stained the porcelain tub, a mass of soap needed to wash it away.

Instead of filling the tub again, I directed the water from the faucet to rain down over me, mingling with soap that I lathered over my body to trickle down the open drain. When a semblance of pale skin could finally be spotted underneath the mess of ash, I released the stream of water and let it fill the tub.

I sat as the water inched higher and higher. The instant the heat became marginally tolerable, I sent more flames through the water. The water was too hot, and it wasn’t hot enough.

I scrubbed my skin raw with a washrag, revealing puckered red scrapes along my arms and legs, only slightly darker than the rest of my tender boiled skin. It hurt, but not nearly as much as I deserved. I hoped Thesan’s healing powers left the pain even after the marks were gone.

Four rounds of washing, and suds from my hair still came out black. Maybe I’d be stuck like this, an eternal queen of ash. Maybe then Tamlin would stay away from me.

As if the thought had summoned him, a male dropped to the ground outside the balcony, in front of the manor.

Wait, no. That was wrong. Tamlin wouldn’t drop to the ground unless he had been flying…

“ _TAMLIN!_ ” the male voice roared from outside.

My heart stopped. It wasn’t Tamlin.

It was Rhys. 


	11. Chapter 11

It was Rhys, and he was irate. His arrival dimmed the sunlight streaming through the windows, shadows of night extending from him, just in the garden below, to slice through the stark daylight. Tendrils curled around the balcony, twining like serpents through the bars to feel the glass door to my room. They warred against the glass and methodically searched for a crack, an opening. To reach inside. To reach me.

A finger of smoke wormed its way between the door and its frame. Paralyzed with shock, heart pounding with fear, I sat in the nearly-tolerable heat of the bath as I watched the night slither across the floor, first the hardwood of the bedroom, then tiles as it entered the bathroom. Hunting, searching for me. It paused when it hit the tub, then climbed with painful slowness to the top.

The bond between us was still masked, but at the caress of night atop my skin, the mask shattered.

He was shouting.

My name, over and over.

His tone was sheer panic. The panic of a male who couldn’t feel his mate other than to sense that something was horribly wrong. The panic which would draw him to drastic measures to find her no matter the consequences.

My first thought was to lay a hand along the vast fortress of his mind, so easy to reach now that he was close. My second snatched that hand back and reset the mask in the vain hope that Rhysand, the most powerful High Lord who had ever lived, had not reached my mind. Even with my mental shields, the unmasked bond would spell out the events of last night – how I had betrayed him in the most brutal way possible.

But he was too strong, and I was too slow. His shouts cut off, and the bond went deathly silent. The black adamant bridge between us hardened as ice began to form without either of our minds to warm it. I put a foot on the bridge, but the slick ice sent me sprawling, and I retreated.

Outside, the world suffered the same silence. Birds in their trees cowered from the darkness, and no servant could be heard milling about the manor. The wise would have hid. The delicate-hearted would have fainted from fear.

The only sound that could be heard was the slow rasping of a sword rising from its scabbard. That Illyrian steel blade, singing its death call as it was loosed from its prison and its master repeated his roar.

“ _TAMLIN!_ ”

His voice shook the very foundation of the manor, sending the chandelier in my room tinkling as the crystals hanging from each arm knocked together and threatened to fall. Long after the word ended, the glass windowpanes in the balcony door rattled in their settings for one second, two seconds, three, reverberating from the seismic aftershock of his voice. Each second that passed, the rattling rose higher in pitch. No light shone from beyond the window – night had obscured it completely. That tendril, having located me, soared back to its brethren, and with a gentle tap on the other side of the glass, every window was pulverized, leaving a razor-sharp boundary to circle the manor. It was meant not to lock those of us inside, but to protect us from the carnage outside. Because as soft, determined footsteps sounded on the grass, I knew the two High Lords would not waste a thought to consider whether any who dared interrupt them was friend or foe before impaling the intruder.

The footsteps stopped. Tamlin didn’t draw his sword, or it was already drawn. Silence reigned.

“I will kill you.”

My mate’s words were whispered through clenched teeth, as loud as if he had shouted in the stillness.

“You may try,” came the reply, just as soft, just as deadly.

I had to see what was happening. My half-clean state was nothing more than a mild annoyance as I wrung out my hair and threw on a silk bathrobe. It clung to my damp body, the pale ivory folds turning nearly sheer where they encountered water lingering on my skin. I cared as much as I cared about the ashes striping my skin. Both males had seen me naked. Often.

I winnowed directly onto the balcony, the faint pop of my appearance echoing across the garden below. Two sets of eyes snapped to me. I met both violet and green with lingering rage from this morning – still white-hot, but honed to an iron determination.

Rhysand was a fool for coming here so recklessly. If he had come to kill me, I would not have minded. But he had come to soothe his own male desire for vengeance. Whatever joy it gave me to see his sword leveled at Tamlin’s chest was nothing compared to the guilt that made my stomach churn. It should be pointing at my chest, and he should split my traitorous body from shoulder to thigh.

Tamlin was just a fool.

I was not amused.

After the briefest glance to assess me, both males dismissed me, and each set of eyes returned to study its opponent, unblinking, as if even that slightest of distractions was a disadvantage. I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved or irritated that the two of them used last night’s incident as an excuse to release their hatred at one another, rather than showing an ounce of concern for me. Not that I needed concern from either of them.

With their attention once more directed at each other, I at last allowed myself the pleasure of looking at my mate.

He had released the damper on his power. All of it.

I had thought I had seen a complete demonstration of his power at the Court of Nightmares. I was hopelessly mistaken.

It wasn’t just that his magic leeched into the surroundings, staining the garden with night that consumed all light that had the misfortune to fall into its trap. Somehow, Rhys himself was nothing but an outline of smoke, his violet eyes the only color against the darkness that didn’t swirl around him but _was_ him. As if, in his animalistic rage, his body was no longer a suitable vessel for his immense power.

He eclipsed the sun. Morning had been slaughtered, leaving behind only the dead of night.

Once, Rhys had taught me to recognize different shades of darkness. I could hear his voice in my head.

_There are different kinds of darkness. There is the darkness that frightens, the darkness that soothes, the darkness that is restful. There is the darkness of lovers, and the darkness of assassins._

This darkness was not one of those. It was a blight upon the land, oozing along the ground, smothering every blade of grass. To step into it would mean death, a most excruciating death by instant asphyxiation as it sucked the will to live from its victim. Within that darkness, there was no heat, no air, no sound. In its thrall, life ceased to exist.

_It becomes what the bearer wishes it to be, needs it to be._

Rhys wanted it to be death, and death it became. Without wholly-solid feet, he glided across the garden toward Tamlin. In his wake, grass shriveled and blackened like the rotten skin of a decaying corpse. A ring of death would overwhelm the garden long after he was gone. It was a wonder he hadn’t given himself over to his beast form, but I saw no sign of talons – just white-knuckled fingers gripping that wicked Illyrian blade, inching forward with his almost-steps.

_It is not wholly bad or good._

No, it was not. Not evil, just painfully apathetic. A careless bird soared too close to the night and was sucked in by a force too strong for the bird to battle. The instant it touched the darkness, it froze eternally in its position, wings out, straining to escape, and plummeted to the ground, where it shattered upon contact, littering the grass with shards of songbird. Rhys’s eyes didn’t leave Tamlin, and his advance didn’t slow.

The High Lord of Spring had had enough, and he too released the full damper on his power. The garden exploded into color. Flowers and shrubs sprang into the air, stalks and brambles elongating wildly as Tamlin hastened time. As he rested his gaze on the shattered bird, the shards whirled to find their place within the body of the bird that lived once more. With a cry, it flapped its newly-made wings once and catapulted into the sky. The dead grass came back to life, and vines came with it, snaking and snatching tendrils of night from the air. Where vines captured night, it fizzled, sentience strangled from the smoke.

And because that sentience was Rhysand, he reigned in his darkness with a deep, reluctant growl, halting his advance. His figure began to take shape. The smoke retreated, and I saw him, and my heart ached.

There was my mate.

There were those tattooed arms that had carried me through the sky. There was that perfect face, more beautiful than the sun, the moon, and the stars combined. That mouth, now curled in a snarl, that with kind words had coaxed me from the brink of despair. Those violet bedroom eyes that even now made my toes curl.

He wore Illyrian fighting leathers, and my toes curled even further, so tightly that I had to grip the balcony railing to keep from falling. The dark leather clung to every curve of his muscled body. My knees went weak to imagine, if Cassian had once called this figure out-of-shape, what Rhys’s _in-_ shape body would look like.

He was armed to the teeth, knives strapped to his belt, his thighs, his arms. The empty scabbard of his sword lay against the column of his tattooed spine, right between his massive, batlike wings.

His wings.

Rhys had never dared reveal his wings to the Court of Nightmares, let alone the world beyond the Night Court. Yet here they were, folded in tight to his body, hooked talons at the tip of each wing extending high above his head to tower over Tamlin. He had revealed his most closely-guarded secret to search for me, so it was my fault when Tamlin’s mouth twisted into a sneer, scoffing at my mate’s heritage as he found proof, in his mind, that he was once and for all superior to Rhysand.

The sneer widened, his lips parting to let out a cruel, bitter laugh.

“Illyrian bastard.”

I knew how deeply the words cut Rhys, even though his face let nothing show, and I flung myself down the bond to stroke the looming walls of his mind, which hummed with profound wrath. I dug my heels into the bridge, fighting the slippery ice. I would not be driven away. He was not alone – although I had betrayed him, I had not abandoned him. I was here, and I saw him. At the iron gates to his mind, I left the words I had wanted to say each night since I’d left.

_I love you_.

The gates shuddered and released a breath of warm air. The fortress remained locked, but the ice on the bridge began to thaw. Though I pressed him no further, I refused to retreat. I would not be driven away.

His eyes never left Tamlin’s.

“Imagine the shame,” came his drawling, casual reply, “When your head is removed from its body by an Illyrian bastard.”

Another dismissive laugh from Tamlin, and he finally drew the sword from his baldric. His rapier could not have been more different from Rhys’s Illyrian blade. Where one was forged from dark iron, the other shined golden in the sun, which had once again reappeared with its High Lord’s aura set free. Where one was brutal in the stark simplicity of the wide, flat blade, the other blade had ornate designs etched along its needlelike body, tapering to a thin, barely visible point. Where one killed with ash laced into the cold metal, the other relied on enchantments set by the High Priestess herself. Where one belonged to my eternal mate, the other belonged to my darkest enemy.

Despite the differences, there was one piercing commonality: both swords could bring death, with absolute certainty and utter finality.

Fear hit me then. I did not know which of them would win this fight. In all my time with the two High Lords, I had never seen either of them fight. Sure, I’d watched Rhys train with Cassian and Azriel, but never in a situation like this. Never when the outcome mattered.

And while I had never seen Tamlin train, he hadn’t spent the past fifty years trapped Under the Mountain. He had been free to spar and run and ride and hone every one of his muscles until his body was as lethal as his magic.

Oh gods, his magic.

This was his territory, engineered to meet his whims and surrounded with Cauldron-made wards to keep intruders out. That Rhys was here said enough about how deep the well of his power ran. Even the most powerful High Lord in Prythian should not have been able to breach wards that strong. But he had flown to the manor, rather than winnowing, and the flush I’d observed in his cheeks had tempered in the past minutes – a flush not of anger, but of exertion. He had needed to fly in order to get past the wards. By winnowing just outside the border of the Spring Court, he would have created a gentle tear in the shield, flown inside, and continued flying all the way here. But the manor was leagues from the nearest border, the border with the Autumn Court, and Rhys wouldn’t have risked the legal consequences of invading Tamlin’s court via another. No, he must have flown all the way here from the sea, which made no sense if he could have used magic to winnow…

Unless he _couldn’t_ use magic. Unless the wards were weak enough to allow Rhys to pass but strong enough to strip his magic from him as payment for his audacity.

Rhys’s darkness would be exempt from the tariff, because it was linked to him, not to his magic, and the Cauldron, for all it had tried, could not break the mating bond that allowed the two of us to speak mind-to-mind. But that would explain why he hadn’t hidden the wings. Again, I felt a wrenching stab of guilt that he had been forced to reveal them to _Tamlin_ for my sake.

The stab twisted my stomach in anticipation of the fight, and I choked bile back down my throat. I would not vomit. It would be my punishment to watch my enemy slaughter my mate. I deserved it, but Rhys didn’t. He was too good for me, he was too good for this world. My noble, beautiful, self-sacrificing mate–

_Stop_.

His voice resounded in my head, a tone of pure command.

_Honestly, Feyre, it’s a little insulting that you think I’m going to_ die _._

My knees wobbled, and it was an effort to keep my face neutral as I wrapped my mind around his in an embrace. Apologies bubbled from me, so fast that my mind stumbled over the words, but he cut me off again.

_I trust you_ , he told me, a gentle caress.

It was just one of the many, many reasons I loved him.

I collected myself, checked to make sure my face was composed, and swallowed my internal tears. This was not the time, nor the place to have this conversation. We were not alone, and he had a High Lord to fight.

I sent a smirk down the bond. _Prove me wrong, then._

His lips almost twitched into a smile.

_It will be my pleasure_.

He became a flurry of wings and wrath as he charged at Tamlin. He raised his sword above his head, arcing it toward Tamlin’s head, as if in a single stroke, he could behead our enemy. But Tamlin moved too quickly for my eyes to follow, and a resounding clang echoed throughout the garden as their swords met. Rhysand was taller, especially with the wings, but Tamlin had a beastly brawn. Their swords were locked together as each tried to assert his advantage, Rhys bearing down on Tamlin, Tamlin holding his position with infuriating ease.

A growl came from one of them, and their swords untangled. Rhys twisted backward half a pace, and they began to circle each other with slow, deliberate steps. They completed two full circles, eyes never leaving their opponent. All of a sudden, Tamlin lashed forward, going on the offensive. Three quick steps, three quick blows, each held off by the Illyrian blade. Then he retreated, and the circling continued.

Faster than I could see, Rhys lunged to the left as Tamlin charged at him again. The sword of iron whipped around to slash at Tamlin’s neck, and it was Tamlin’s turn to duck. His sword bit at my mate’s legs, and he jumped back, knocking the golden blade aside. Again, the swords connected. The High Lords whirred, the clash of their swords sounding so often that it became a single thunderclap droning across the land. I couldn’t discern arms or legs or swords, just two blurs – one of black and one of green and gold.

The thunderclap ended, and the blurs were males once more. Both of them were panting, but they looked uninjured. Neither had landed a blow. But as soon as they were visible, Tamlin pressed forward in an unrelenting advance. Rhys stumbled back, barely lifting his sword in time to block Tamlin’s. But the sword of gold was no longer there, cutting away faster than my mate expected. He planted a foot forward to brace himself as he twisted to keep from falling, his height advantage neutralized. The thin golden blade gleamed in the sunlight as it snaked into an invisible opening Rhys had left.

The sword hissed, or was that my mate? Two drops of blood stained the grass as they fell from the thin slice Tamlin had drawn in Rhys’s cheek.

He looked up at Tamlin with a snarl of pure hatred, but the High Lord of Spring didn’t let up. Arcing his blade higher, a flick of his wrist had it tearing straight toward my mate’s delicate wings.

I bit back a cry to warn Rhys, but he’d anticipated Tamlin’s next move and was ready. As the thin sword neared his wings, he switched his own to his left hand to draw it behind him, taunting Tamlin to the right, inviting him, daring him to touch his wings.

Tamlin fell into the trap. As he leaned in, Rhys raised his sword in a wicked curve from behind. At the apex of the arch, his right hand came beside his left to grasp the hilt in a two-handed grip, and he threw all his strength behind the strike.

It hit home. Tamlin could do nothing but watch as the cold Illyrian blade came crashing down on the thin golden one. All those elegant enchantments did nothing to stop Tamlin’s sword from shattering into thousands of pieces, too many and too small for any hope of ever forging it again. The pommel remained in his hand, and Tamlin stared at it uselessly.

But then fire too lit his eyes, and he cast it aside, reaching his hands to either side of him. Summoning roots and vines from the ground to ensnare Rhys’s feet.

My stomach twisted. Against magic, this was not a fight Rhys could win. He had to end this. Now.

As if hearing my thoughts, he dragged the ash-laced blade through the brambles at his feet, slicing through them as easily as air. Where they met ash, they burned and shriveled, like the ground in his wake of death had. He started toward Tamlin, leveling the sword at his chest as he had when he’d first appeared.

Tamlin edged backward, retreating. Now his eyes held fear. With his blade destroyed and his magic impotent against Rhys’s blade, he was lost. And he knew it.

The High Lord of Night advanced. The blood from his cut had spilled down his face, leaving behind a crimson tearstain. Smoke curled around him once more. When Tamlin tripped over one of his own vines, bringing him to his knees, violet eyes flashed and his wings flared out behind him as he bore down upon Tamlin.

He was terrifying.

That dark blade never gave an inch. I’d seen this scene play out before, Tamlin on his knees before Rhys. The first time I had been outraged. Now I delighted in it. He was going to kill Tamlin.

He was going to kill Tamlin.

I’d never felt such joy at the loss of life. Tamlin would be gone, forever, the one who had caused so much pain fittingly slaughtered by one whose every action was for his people. I would never again hear that patronizing tone, look at his smug, self-righteous face. I would never again have to feel his touch dominate my body, forcing it to please his every whim.

But what would happen after? Would Lucien become High Lord? If not him, a different High Fae lord? As incompetent as Tamlin was, at least he made an effort to rule. Could the same be said about the High Fae, who refused to participate in the war effort and treated even their Falconer children with disdain? I certainly wouldn’t be eligible for the title – I hadn’t married Tamlin, hadn’t officially tied myself to the Spring Court, despite all I’d done on its behalf.

No, as much as it went against every thought in my mind, Tamlin had to live. His death would bring only momentary victory, but the Spring Court would be left in shambles.

Perhaps, after the war, he and Rhys could have a rematch.

Only that thought gave me the strength of will to gather darkness around me and winnow a hair’s breadth from the cold tip of that Illyrian blade, and for an instant – just for an instant – Rhysand was bearing down on me, instead of Tamlin.

The heartbeat finished, and my mate returned. His face smoothed, ironing wrath and hatred into confusion. Down the bond that had erupted with emotion at our proximity, he gave me a teasing caress, while his outward confusion split into a predatory feline smile. _Let’s play, Feyre darling._

I didn’t let assent cross my face before falling into my role.

“Stop,” I commanded.

He stuck his sword point-first in the grass, standing tall enough to reach his waist, and half-tucked his wings behind him. “Feyre darling,” he cooed. That damned voice, like velvet along my skin. It was an effort to transform my desire to anger, but I managed, narrowing my eyes at Rhys as he continued. “How lovely to see you again. Have you missed me?”

“Why are you here?” I spat.

A dismissive wave of his hand. “I was in the neighborhood, and one of my shadows told me there was a High Lord in need of killing.”

“Don’t.”

“And why would I do that?” He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the hilt of his sword and his chin in his hand. His perfect face was so close to mine, I could almost reach out my arm to touch him.

“Please,” I breathed.

He flicked an eyebrow up. Tamlin remained silent, a statue of a broken male behind me. Pathetic.

“I – I’ll give you anything.”

His feline smile widened, and he leaned in further, wings spreading as lust glowed in his eyes.

“A kiss.”

At that, Tamlin sprang to his feet, leaping in front of me to shield me from Rhys. My mate didn’t move, just clicked his tongue, stirred his shadows to swirl, and let a snarl curl his lip. “Not in front of the lady.” He glanced at the ground, then back up at Tamlin to indicate what he wanted. Hatred burning in his eyes, Tamlin sank back to the grass, kneeling before Rhys. How I relished in that sight.

Rhys turned his attention back to me, and I made a show of swallowing, letting the bob of my throat convey my reluctance. My _feigned_ reluctance, that is.

 _Scoundrel_.

_Always._

“Very well.”

In one fluid motion, Rhys pulled his sword from the grass and sheathed it on his back, five centuries of battle training directing the movement so that he didn’t even need to tear his eyes from me to locate the scabbard. Extending to their full length, his wings wrapped around me and gently – but firmly – drew me to him. They cocooned us, blocking out the garden, the manor, and Tamlin, and blocking _us_ from their view as well. In the blink of an eye, it was just me and Rhys.

We dropped our masks at the same time. He cupped my face in his hands, scanning it for injury more serious than rage and fatigue.

 _I’m fine_ , I assured him as I reached an absent finger to stroke the scrape on his cheek. It would close within a day, but irrational irritation that Tamlin had marred the perfect skin of my mate filled me. But then, Rhys had breached Cauldron-made wards to invade the Spring Court and nearly kill its High Lord without the help of magic. A decent payoff, all things considered.

_You don’t seem fine. If he hurt you, if he made you–_

_I’m fine_ , I repeated. I wanted to explain, to tell him of my plans, my work within the Spring Court, but I remembered my failed plea to Tamlin. How my butchery of last night’s situation had landed us in this mess.

He sensed my hesitation. _Say the word, and I’ll take you home._ _We can be at Velaris in an hour._

Velaris. The City of Starlight. My home, and my family. Mor and Cassian and Amren and Azriel. Thinking of the city, remembering its cobblestone streets riddled with content people and beautiful art, brought tears to my eyes. I didn’t dare think longer on my family other than to remember their faces, lest the tears spill.

_I can’t. I can’t tell you how much I want to, but I can’t. Not yet._

A hint of disappointment, but no judgement in his eyes. _When?_

 _Soon,_ I promised. _A few weeks, a month at the most._ If I wasn’t High Lady by then, I would have to find another way to aid the Spring Court.

He sucked in a breath, and pain lined his face.

 _That’s too long. I’ll have to…_ he trailed off, collected his thoughts, and began again. _Tomorrow, Tamlin will receive a letter from me, about the war. I’m requesting a meeting of the High Lords. I would very much like to see you there,_ High Lady _._

I loved the way my title sounded in his mind, and I loved the emphasis he placed on it. A smile quirked my lips. _I’ll see if I can fit it into my schedule._

_Please do._

The conversation had taken only moments, but Tamlin was just feet away, impatience and suspicion growing by the second.

This was goodbye.

It was goodbye, and I couldn’t even touch my mate. I longed to wrap my hands around him, to press his body to mine and inhale the citrus and salt scent of him. To hold him, just for a moment before duty tore us apart again. But with Tamlin so close, I couldn’t risk it.

Rhys’s hands still gripped my face. A tear slipped when I blinked, and his thumb brushed it away.

And then, he bowed his head and lowered his lips to mine.

He tasted like the sea and the sky and ice-tipped mountains. His touch was gentle, barely a whisper upon my skin. He demanded nothing, expected nothing from me other than what I chose to give. I leaned into the kiss, and strong hands left my face to tangle in my hair. It took every fiber of my will to keep my hands at my side.

But we were too greedy, and we had pressed Tamlin too far. He let out a growl, territorial the way a cat pees to mark its scent.

“Release her.”

Rhys, ever the rascal, opened his wings before the kiss was over. Somehow, our bodies had become pressed together, and one of his hands had slid just a little too far down my back. What a picture we must have made for Tamlin, Rhys the villain and I the helpless damsel in his arms, only the sheer silk of my bathrobe between me and him. In another second, his lips left mine. Violet eyes met my blue ones.

 _It has been a delight_. No hint of teasing in his tone. A sincere farewell.

 _I love you_.

I held his eyes for another greedy moment before casting them to Tamlin. The other High Lord was on his feet, an arm extended toward me. I took the offered hand, and he reeled me in. I was thrust behind him, both of his hands clasping mine in a grip that threatened to crush my knuckles.

Rhys just licked his lips with a roguish grin.

“Get. Out.”

He flared his wings in response, but his eyes were on me.

“Until next time, Feyre darling.”

He was in the air before Tamlin could bark a response. So fast, he rocketed into the sky, those powerful wings carrying him away until he was nothing more than a speck to my eyes.

Tamlin and I both watched him, and his grip on my hands loosened only marginally once my mate had disappeared. While my gaze was still to the sky, he pulled me to him, crushing me to his chest, stroking my hair, kissing my forehead. Brushing me off as if he could erase Rhys’s scent on me.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated again and again as his hands moved across me. “I’m sorry.”

The apologies were for his sake, it seemed, for his own peace of mind. I tried to placate him with reassurances that it wasn’t his fault (it was) and he would destroy Rhys next time (he wouldn’t). But, as always, he ignored me and barreled ahead, murmuring into my temple.

“I should be able to protect you. I _should_ be able to protect you. Why can’t I protect you?”

The whispers weren’t for me, but reflections of the thoughts raging through his unhinged mind. Words continued to pour from him.

“I can’t lose you. I must protect you. I _must_ protect you.”

His spine straightened with a snap, and his hands went still. He stepped back to give himself space to stare at me. His eyes held the intensity I feared, and a shade of madness that churned within. I didn’t know what that gaze implied. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

He inspected every inch of my face. He took in the ashes in my hair and on my skin. He noted my eyes, slightly upturned, and my ears, tapered to delicate points. He looked at me – _which_ me, I had no way of knowing – and he was satisfied by whatever he saw.

Tamlin placed a hand to my chest and gave a faint _push_.

My body pricked all over. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe. But I could feel. Every blade of grass beneath my bare feet tickled my toes. The morning sunlight was a weight upon my skin, like a blanket draped over me.

And then I could hear – birds in the forest at the edge of the manor grounds, and the roots of trees digging into the ground, constant in their growth, unyielding in their progress. Nature sang to me.

My eyes shot open as I took a gasping breath. Sweet air soothed my aching lungs, but I paid no attention to it as I beheld the world around me. Not only could I feel every blade of grass, but I could see each one as well, and each leaf on every tree in the forest, discerning hues of green that had never before existed.

And then I saw Tamlin. His hand was still to my chest, the echoes of an immense light dimming as I regained my senses. It wasn’t the kernel of magic that had brought me back to life Under the Mountain, but it was similar. He had pressed a piece of his power into me.

Tamlin had made me High Lady of the Spring Court.

♦♦♦

That night, as I undressed for bed, I found a new tattoo, a remnant of the bargain I had struck this morning with Rhys. Nearly hidden by my hair, it sat behind my ear. A mountain crested by three stars. The symbol of the Night Court.

The symbol of _one_ of my courts. 


	12. Interlude

At night, I lie awake and pretend Rhys is with me.

If I turn on my side, I can imagine him behind me, his arms wrapping around my chest and holding me tight. His head nestles behind mine. Phantom breath prickles the back of my neck.

Or, if I shift onto my stomach, I’m laying atop him. I press my ear to my pillow and listen for his heartbeat. My arm creeps across the bed, feeling for his body. My legs splay out as if they can tangle with his, if only I could reach far enough.

In the middle of the night, when the nightmares have shaken me to consciousness, I clutch the pillow to my chest. I cry into it the way I would cry against his shoulder.

When I wake in the morning, I slide from his grasp. As I look back at my bed, I trace the outline of where his body should be with my eyes. I remember the face he makes when he’s asleep, unlined and years younger, the burden of his power eased for this small while. His hair has fallen into his eyes, and I can feel it run through my fingers as I brush it back from his face.

And when his eyes open, he sees me and smiles.


	13. Chapter 13

Of course, there was more to my coronation than the transfer of magic. There were papers to sign, and in true Spring Court fashion, prayers to be said. Physically, I was High Lady, but I’d completed neither the legal or spiritual requirements, both of which were essential before I could assume any real authority within the court.

The legal documents I signed in minutes, as soon as Tamlin brought me back inside the manor and fetched the papers. Signature here, initials there – with my brain still reeling from the encounter with Rhysand, I nearly used his last name before remembering that Tamlin had made Feyre Archeron High Lady. It seemed I was stuck with my father’s name, at least within the Spring Court records.

The spiritual demands could not be executed quite as quickly. Ianthe, after an admirable effort to cover her shock and envy at my new title, suggested we postpone my public coronation until the Summer Solstice, little over a week away. I was loathe to take any more time than necessary to authenticate my title, but I could see the scene play out in my head, the sun rising to illuminate me in a crown of gold as I was officially raised as High Lady, and I acquiesced.

A week. Only a week, and I will have finished my work and could return to Velaris, finally free of the Spring Court.

But I wouldn’t ever truly be free of the Spring Court. Its magic lived within me, a weight upon my soul to remind me of my duty. I was the High Lady of the Spring Court, from now until the day my heart stopped beating.

I welcomed the responsibility. This was where I belonged.

Some part of me, deep down, was satisfied by the overwhelming _rightness_ of my new role. As if, even though Rhysand was my mate and the Night Court was my home, I hadn’t been wholly complete until I was tied to the Spring Court as well. As if fate hadn’t made a mistake in introducing me to Tamlin before Rhys but had carefully planned every painful moment of my time in the Spring Court to bring me right here, to this place, this position.

There was a reason why I’d fallen in love with Tamlin, all those months ago – so that I could persuade him, in a way no other in Prythian could, to share the burden of his power and the title he had never wanted in the first place. I didn’t believe in fate any more than I did in Ianthe’s prayers, but as the larger picture spread before me, I couldn’t help but appreciate how neatly all the pieces had begun to fit together.

Rhys’s letter arrived the following morning, just as he had said. He called for a meeting of all Prythian’s High Lords to discuss the conflict with Hybern, and he had chosen a date – two weeks from now, a few days after my coronation. I had hoped to leave the Spring Court right after the coronation, but revealing my other title could destroy any hope of peace. We needed to maintain a unified front against Hybern. If I abandoned Tamlin just before the meeting, I put that front in jeopardy. I would have to remain at the Spring Court until after the meeting, after the promise of Spring Court troops was irrevocable.

Two questions remained, then. The first had been dictated by Rhys’s letter: Tamlin was only allowed four companions at his side to attend the meeting. As High Lady, I was included without question, Lucien and Ianthe following right behind me. Liv, the General of the largest of the Spring Court’s armies and the best strategist between the three Generals, was the obvious choice for the final slot, but Tamlin hesitated to invite her, opting for Celis instead. He cited Liv’s immense responsibility and staggering workload as reasons for her to stay behind.

They didn’t seem good enough for me.

I pressed him further, not to denigrate Celis’s suitability but to question his opposition to Liv. He knew the Generals better than I did, so I trusted his judgement, but I could tell there was something he wasn’t letting on.

After dinner, as Lucien, Tamlin, and I sipped our wine, it finally came out.

“She’s not High Fae,” Tamlin admitted after a bracing sip of wine. “It’ll destabilize our position, make us weaker in the eyes of the other High Lords.”

“Will it really matter that much? Surely other High Lords won’t restrict their parties only to High Fae.” I left it unspoken that Cassian and Azriel, both full Illyrian, would undoubtedly attend the meeting.

“Our numbers are great enough that ordinarily, it shouldn’t be an issue. The Military isn’t a particularly ferocious force, but it’s well-trained and highly disciplined, and the Falconers and Shapeshifting legions have tactical uses unique from those within the armies of the other courts. But,” he paused to twirl his wine, and Lucien finished the sentence.

“But the other courts still think we’re whoring ourselves out to Hybern.”

A snort of a laugh from Tamlin. “Not the words I would have chosen, but yes. We’ll have our work cut for us trying to convince them we’re on the same side, and assurances from a High Fae General will speak louder than those from a lesser faerie, General or no.”

Lucien and I shared a look at Tamlin’s use of the derogatory phrase. From what I knew of other High Lords, Tamlin was relatively tolerant, especially compared to Beron, but the male was so pigheaded that despite his just intentions, he failed to recognize how his offhanded slurs perpetrated the injustices within the Spring Court.

“I was likely only invited as a courtesy.”

“Or because the bastard wants to see Feyre again,” Lucien mumbled into his wine.

Tamlin and I gave him a flat stare.

“I’m not _wrong_ ,” he said, less of a protest and more of a disgruntled defense. 

But with the question of who would attend the meeting of the High Lords answered, the second question remained: which Feyre would be present? Not the High Lady of the Night Court, but perhaps the High Lady of Spring? I could see the scene play out before me: I would arrive at the gathering at Tamlin’s side, defiant in my refusal to bow before the other High Lords.

And then each of them, Rhysand included, would feel the need to test me during this first demonstration of my power, to challenge me on every opinion and to attempt to bend me to their wills. The confrontation would occur eventually, I knew, but it would be a waste of the precious little time we’d have during this meeting to let it dominate the conversation.

So I would save the revelation of my title for a more opportune moment.

I didn’t mind. I could play the role of the helpless female a little while longer. It is far better to be underestimated than overestimated, though I doubted knowing my title – _both_ my titles – would be enough to earn immediate respect from the High Lords. No, that would take many, many years.


	14. Chapter 14

With my position within the Spring Court secure, I no longer had to satisfy Tamlin’s desire. I kept constant watch on his thoughts, and when they edged toward lust, I molded them into love, tempering them with compliments to my strength rather than to my body. I had no qualms about breaking into his mind – at least for this purpose. Whether he slept with me or not had no impact on his ability to rule and make decisions for the court. Just to be safe, I monitored Lucien and Ianthe’s thoughts, too, to make sure neither of them had any suspicions about Tamlin’s sudden civility.

I was… free. Free to do whatever I wished within the Spring Court as I waited for Solstice and my coronation.

The notion was strange. A year ago, and I would have been ecstatic at the idea of no chores or obligations. I would have locked myself in a room to paint the days away, forgoing food, sleep, human company in favor of art. But that Feyre had died Under the Mountain, and even the one who had taken her place, Feyre the High Fae, had been placed in the attic to collect dust. I was Feyre the High Lady, of not one but now two courts. It didn’t matter that the world had yet to hear of my title – that didn’t change the feeling within me, the blanket warming me as it wrapped around my shoulders, that my life had a greater purpose than to be spent thinking only of myself.

No. Just as I had taken care of my sisters and my father for years after we lost our fortune, I had a duty to take care of and protect my courts. But this was a burden I did not resent. One responsibility had been freely accepted, and the other had been requested. I cherished them.

Well, that settled it. I would head to the training grounds. Without an official coronation, I couldn’t yet confront the High Fae, but I had not forgotten Celis’s plea. Perhaps I could begin sowing the ground for their arrival.

It was not the same training grounds that I had left two days ago when I had transported the last of the villagers.

It was a war camp.

With so many bodies pressed into a secluded but confined field, I expected chaos.

I found the opposite. The soldiers – for the villagers _were_ soldiers now, in dark green military uniforms matching the one Lucien had worn since we’d begun preparing for war, only the decorations on the collar, shoulder pads, and breast pockets to differentiate them – stood in tight ten-by-ten square formations in the center of their training area. Liv, Lucien, and a few other high-ranking officers with two stars on each shoulder strode between the units, barking orders and adjusting postures.

I was too far away to make out the commands, but I saw their ripples. In time to a silent metronome, the soldiers lifted their lances to rest at the ready. The next command had the lances raised level with the soldiers’ eyes. At the third, the units marched forward three paces, thrust forward the lances, and reset to the previous ready position.

Watching them took my breath away. On one’s own, a fighter could only influence a small sphere of the battle, sparring opponents as they presented themselves. But with the precision of these units, the soldiers were no longer individuals. They were a war machine, one that would not crack under the frenzy of a bloody battlefield or abandon its post when duty required its deployment.

I understood Tamlin’s comment from the previous night better now. No, the Military was not ferocious, but a weapon does not need ferocity in order to kill. The soldiers were a tidal wave, steady and unyielding before any opposition.

Their discipline made the Illyrians look bad. How Liv had been able to wrangle them into a cohesive, let alone remarkable, force in the space of just a few days, I could not fathom. A chill, not wholly malign, went down my spine to imagine the strength of the Military when it was ready to march. The Spring Court would not be remembered as weak.

Tamlin, resplendent in his own uniform of green-and-gold, was training with the Shapeshifters. The legion’s uniforms were Spring Court colors, but instead of the structured Military style, they were made of a stretchy material that clung to their vibrant skin. On Alistair’s command, the soldiers, on much steadier legs than I’d seen a week ago, formed an intricate lattice of limbs so that each Shapeshifter was in contact with a diamond-shaped web. At the tip of the diamond stood Tamlin, one hand clasping the arm of the soldier behind him.

They held their position until Alistair shouted another order, and then the faeries were gone. In their place, cobalt birds of prey fought to gain altitude. The uniforms had transformed with the soldiers, creating an aerodynamic sort of armor to strengthen each wingbeat. A hundred feet above the ground, they assembled into three neat V’s stacked atop each other in the sky. A golden eagle led them, slightly larger than the others – Tamlin. They banked to face not the forest, but the air above the rest of the training grounds – and the falcons already in the air, waiting.

I whipped around to spot Celis and the Falconers on the ground, golden eyes glazed over as they saw through their birds’ eyes. The falcons soared high above the Shapeshifters, not in a V formation but in precise rows to form a perfect square blanketing the sky. Before the Shapeshifters could attack, the falcon in the center of the formation tipped into a dive, followed by the birds in the square surrounding it, then the next and the next until falcons rained from the sky.

But instead of breaking rank as falcons barreled toward them, the Shapeshifters banked hard. The two forces missed each other only narrowly. A reprimanding shout came from Celis, and the falcons pulled out of their dives just feet from the heads of the Military soldiers to make their slow, sheepish ascent once more.

I was too engrossed in the skirmish to notice the sentry that greeted me the instant I appeared in the camp. A gentle cough returned me to my senses. The sentry too wore the Military uniform, and as I cast my gaze across the camp, I found that _all_ the faeries were dressed in the same manner. Children at washbasins, up to their elbows in suds, cooks kneading dough, and messengers milling about all were in uniform, individuality smoothed to nothing but a sea of green-and-gold that roiled throughout the camp.

And therefore, when four guards wearing a different uniform approached, I recognized their difference instantly, and not simply because the soldiers were High Fae. Their style was the same, as were the pants and pristine boots, but the forest green jackets were piped with gold, and they lacked the identifying pins on their shoulders and collar. At their sides rested swords like the one Rhys had destroyed, every inch etched with enchantments. Except these swords, on these soldiers, never truly _rested_. Something about the way the High Fae walked, combined with a menace Tamlin’s sword had lacked, twisted my stomach. They were too still, too uncanny. As if they were Fae, but not _quite_.

“High Lady,” they said as they came to a stop in front of me. Their bows were a precise dip of foreheads toward the ground, one arm crossed over the chest, the other resting on that strange sword. Lower than when I had simply been called Lady.

“We can take it from here, soldier,” one of the High Fae said to the sentry, still by my side. Under his gaze, the sentry snapped to attention, saluted, and darted away before I could say a word to her.

I narrowed my eyes at the High Fae. “How may I help you?”

They fell into rank around me, one on each of my sides and two trailing behind as I started toward the center of the camp. The male who had spoken, on my right, answered.

“It is our duty to protect the High Lord.”

A flash of anger surged through me. “ _Tamlin_ sent you?”

“We are an autonomous unit. The High Lord does not send us anywhere.” His tone was smug, and he indulged my look of confusion. “It is our duty to protect the High Lord, and now you as well, High Lady.”

I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. I did _not_ need chaperones, especially now that I had the freedom to move about the Spring Court as I wished.

“I appreciate the gesture–”

“We are not asking, High Lady.” The words were deferential, but the tone was firm. “Like I said, the High Lord – and High Lady – do not send us anywhere. We will guard you as we see fit. We will not infringe on your privacy, and we will do your bidding as long as you are not in danger.”

Gods, Tamlin should have gotten rid of these proud bastards decades ago. No wonder he harped so much on his need to protect, with this unit considered the Spring Court’s most elite.

“Well, I’m not in danger here, so you can go sharpen your swords or your teeth or whatever else it is you do to prepare for war.”

At that patronizing look in the soldier’s eyes, I regretted my flippant words.

“In times such as these, High Lady, we do not take any chances.”

He was right. As much as I hated to admit that this arrogant male was right, my safety during wartime was more important than my newfound freedom. Tamlin’s or my death would throw the army into chaos and cost us the war. I could not behave recklessly with the lives of so many at stake.

I couldn’t treat my position the way Rhys did, running straight toward the front lines of any conflict regardless of the consequences, sacrificing himself before anyone else. I loved him for it, but it was shortsighted to let passion overrule logic. Hundred of thousands of people depended on him – on me.

The King of Hybern could have killed us when we broke into his castle. Hell, he _should_ have killed us – he’d captured five of the six members of the Night Court’s Inner Circle, and the Cauldron had oozed with magic. What had prevented him from ending the five of us?

Those were questions for another time. I returned my gaze to the soldier and held those condescending eyes for too long before he remembered to lower them.

“Stay out of my way.”

My tone signaled that I wished for no further conversation on the topic, and he fell back half a pace, a second shadow around me.

An honor guard.

With that title, I begrudged them just a little bit less. They followed silently as I made my way to the battle pavilion at the heart of the Military camp. Liv had called for a break for lunch, and she, Lucien, and the other officers stood in the command pavilion arguing as the hum of hungry soldiers filled the camp. I recognized fewer of them than I had expected – either Lucien had borne a vastly disproportionate number of the villagers to the training grounds or many had made the journey on foot.

But I received warm smiles from faces both familiar and unfamiliar. We hadn’t officially announced my title – that would come from my coronation on Solstice – but even still, various greetings called out to me.

I climbed the three stairs to the pavilion and entered as Lucien was shouting at one of the officers.

“– _are_ necessary, and you _will_ train them!”

“With all due respect, Lieutenant General, we have too few resources to prepare a separate detachment if we are to meet our deadline. A few more weeks, a few more officers, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation, but we possess neither!”

Lucien leaned forward across the map in the middle of the pavilion, identical to the topographic map in Tamlin’s war room, updated with the movements of Prythian’s armies that Spring Court spies had been able to ascertain. Apart from the table, no furniture decorated the space, functional almost to a fault. A bold-patterned rug covered the floor only to guard against the rough wood underneath.

I interjected before Lucien could begin yelling again.

“What’s this?”

The officers straightened to attention at my presence, like the sentry had, and they performed a military bow, like my guards had. With a start, I realized Lucien did, too. Only Liv was exempt, the General concentrating on the map as she answered.

“We’re debating the merits and demerits of training a unit of archers, High Lady.” Her voice was calm, emotionless as calculations worked through her head.

Lucien started pacing, his hair too short to properly tug in exasperation. “And I’ve been trying to explain how…” he trailed off as he stopped. He met my eyes and saw the pointed stare I had been giving him since the word ‘archers’ had left Liv’s mouth. We broke into grins at the same time.

“…how we already have an officer to train them.”


	15. Chapter 15

Liv made sure I understood the implications of joining the Military. Once I put on the uniform, I would be subject to Military law, and my status as High Lady would not grant me immunity from it. She sped through the distinctions so quickly it was difficult to keep track, but from what I gleaned, the main infractions were insubordination and desertion.

Neither worried me. I hadn’t held my title for long enough yet that I had become too prideful to recognize that my opinions were not sacrosanct, and I would rather lose a finger than abandon the force I had worked to assemble. This was my duty, and this was where I belonged.

Runners had been sent to fetch a uniform for me, and by the time Liv had finished explaining my responsibilities, a young faerie had returned with a green jacket, black pants, and shiny boots. A small pile of pins and badges rested atop the clothes.

I raised an eyebrow in question to Liv, but her back was already turned from me as she rattled off orders to the remaining officers. Lucien excused himself with a salute to the General and guided me through the camp.

“Moving up in the world, are we?” he asked with a glance toward my guards.

I rolled my eyes. “That was _not_ my idea. They already seem like more trouble than they’re worth.”

He chuckled. “Tamlin hates them too. And yet, they’ve saved his life more times than I could count.”

As we passed through the camp, soldiers stopped what they were doing to stiffen their backs and offer silent salutes to Lucien. Clean clothes were dropped in the mud as laundrypeople hastened to attention, not sparing a second to set the clothes somewhere safe. When we brushed too close to the cookfires, lunching soldiers jumped to their feet, spoons halfway to mouths clattering to tables, forgotten. Lucien didn’t acknowledge a single one of the faeries, just kept leading me through the camp. It all seemed terribly inefficient, and I told him so.

“There are worse things than inefficiency, Feyre. The Military…” he paused for a moment, fumbling for the right words. “You’ll see at your coronation, I suppose. But there is a reason why the Spring Court places so much importance on religion, more than the other courts. Spring is the season of rebirth, of life awakening after cold and darkness have reigned and all hope was lost. It’s a miracle, one that even Fae have trouble fully understanding because its fruition relies so heavily upon the gods.”

I couldn’t see how this related to the Military, but I didn’t want to interrupt him. Tamlin had never explained the Spring Court in this way – Ianthe certainly hadn’t – and I was eager for this insight. Lucien’s words held a distinct veracity I couldn’t help but to accept. As if they were the missing pieces of a puzzle I didn’t know I’d been constructing, laid out before me by my new position or an instinct hidden within. I had derided the Spring Court’s reliance on religion since I’d first heard of the bizarre ritual on Calanmai without ever giving a thought to why the prayers and rituals were necessary. I wasn’t sure if it was enough to persuade me to the priestesses’ religion, but it was enough to temper my derision to cautious acceptance.

“Fae are much closer to nature than humans. If Spring were to fail, the equilibrium of our world would be disrupted.” He didn’t stop walking, but his tone changed, graver and more intense. “We cannot allow that to happen. So we do what we can to prevent it. We perform strange rituals, and we pray to gods that have never seen fit to answer in any productive fashion. We impose order over all things in our power in the hope that the gods will look favorably upon our foresight.”

He cleared his throat, and his tone became light again. “To them, the Military discipline is not frivolous or inefficient, but a way to show piety.”

I snorted at that. “So you’re a god now, hmm? And here you are making fun of me for these leeches.” I tilted my head toward the guards to show who I meant.

When once he would have punched me in the arm, only slightly teasing, he now fought back with words and a self-satisfied grin. “Gods don’t need minders.”

I ignored the comment rather than admit that I had no witty remark.

“They’ll salute to you, too, you know.”

That one I couldn’t ignore. I threw a look of befuddlement at him, and he caught it with a laugh.

“Gods, Feyre, did you do _any_ research before signing your soul away to the Military? We’re the same rank – the soldiers will be tripping over themselves to please you, Lieutenant General.”

Lieutenant General. The same title the other officer had used for Lucien. Just one step below Liv. As an officer, I’d expected some degree of status, but not this. Not–

My thoughts were interrupted as we came to a stop in front of a tent at the edge of the forest, a short distance from the rest of the tents, but far enough away to give off the impression of privacy. It was considerably larger than the others, and circular rather than rectangular. Gold-threaded designs at the seams and entrance ornamented the khaki canvas walls.

Lucien lifted one of the tent flaps and held it open for me. “High Lady,” he said with a smirk as he ushered me inside.

The furnishings were simple but elegant. Overlapping rugs prevented a single blade of grass from peeping into the tent, patterned with faded vines and swirls in reds and blues and yellows that bespoke of warmer climates. A pallet a foot from the ground and a desk equipped with an inkwell and parchment sat atop the rugs. It must have been luxury compared to the tents of the other soldiers, and even after living in Tamlin’s manor and Rhys’s townhouse, I could recognize what an honor it was to be given such quarters.

Lucien and the guards remained outside while I changed into my uniform. After two weeks in nothing but flowy dresses, I had forgotten how much I enjoyed wearing pants. They were surprisingly stretchy, allowing for full range of motion despite how stiff they appeared once on, and they tucked easily into the knee-high black boots, so shiny I could see my reflection in them. The jacket fit perfectly, clinging to my chest and waist and flaring just over my hips. The sleeves were cropped ever so slightly to leave my wrists free to wield a bow and arrow. With each button I did up, I felt more and more confident, like I was slipping into an old, familiar skin. The skin of a warrior.

None of the soldiers in the camp wore their hair loose – males had shorn their long hair in favor of the close-cropped style Lucien now wore, and females kept theirs in strict buns. My hair I tied back in a braid, which I folded underneath itself close to my head. Without a mirror to check for strays, I summoned a few drops of water to smooth the sides.

The pile of pins and badges were still on the desk, and I reluctantly poked my head out of the tent to ask for Lucien’s help.

It took longer to attach all of them than I wanted to admit. Three gold stars on each side of the high collar and on each shoulder; a not insignificant number of badges across the lefthand side of the jacket, as a foil to the massive Spring Court insignia across the right breast pocket; an oval flower crafted from pure gold where the jacket collar met at the hollow of my throat.

Lucien explained each as he worked. I’d presumed the gold stars to be an indicator of rank – the shoulder pads of general soldiers were bare, and as they rose through the ranks, stripes, diamonds, and then stars were added. All the training officers, Major Generals, had two stars, Lucien and I, given our position within the Spring Court, had three as Lieutenant Generals, and Liv, the General of the Military, was the only one with four. As for the badges, my trials Under the Mountain had earned me a good deal of distinction, likewise had my abilities with magic. Only the flower at my throat, unique from any other in the Military, signaled my title as High Lady. 

When he finally finished, he took a step back and let out a low whistle.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you have something to say, Lieutenant General?”

“You’re putting me to shame, Lieutenant General.”

“It’s not a _race_.” I fought to keep a smile from my lips.

“Thank the Cauldron.” He looked me over again. “Ready, Lieutenant General?”

I cast my gaze across the room for a mirror before I remembered there wasn’t one. My heart started pounding with anticipation, and I swallowed to keep it in my stomach. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I tugged on the ends of my sleeves, as if the correct fidget would ease my illogical apprehension.

Why was I worried? I’d faced far worse than the members of the Spring Court, faeries who had already shown me nothing but welcome and appreciation. This time, though, I would face them not as myself, but as their High Lady and one of their officers.

The weight of the responsibility threatened to crush me. This was war, and I held their lives in my hands. If I didn’t train the archers properly, if I neglected to mention a certain technique or protocol, they could fall in an instant. And their deaths would be my fault.

Who was I, a self-trained huntress who had never seen battle, to lead a force to war? For all the baubles on my chest, I had barely begun my immortal life – I was the youngest member of the Military.

“Hey.” Lucien put his hands on my shoulders. Fire flickered behind his eyes – somehow behind both russet and metal ones – and his words as he spoke. “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been a fighter. You survived naga, the Bogge, the Attor. When we sent you away, you came back. You defeated Amarantha. You saved us – you _died_ for us, even though we barely showed you a hint of kindness. I don’t know what happened to you at the Night Court, but whatever horrors you saw there, you conquered, too.

“And for some gods-damned reason, Feyre, you’re prepared to do it all again. We trusted you with our lives once, and you did not fail us. Surely, if nothing else, the second time should be a little easier.”

A lump formed in my throat at his speech, and I hastily blinked back tears. I was not going to let _Lucien_ make me cry.

“But still not easy,” I said with a sniff and a half-hearted laugh. Before I could catch it, a tear spilled down my cheek. And before I could wipe it off, Lucien brushed it away, just as Rhys had – gods, had it only been the day before last? It felt like a lifetime ago.

“If it was easy,” he said gently, “Everyone would do it.”


	16. Chapter 16

His words eased my doubt enough to brave the Military. But as it turned out, there had been little need for doubt. The archers, whose unit had existed before Amarantha, barely needed training outside of remembering how to shoot in time with others. We spent the afternoon drilling various forms, shifting between nocking arrows and drawing the bow until the movements were fluid and coordinated. By the time the sun sank below the horizon, the archers had taken great strides toward mastering the basic forms, and I called a halt when I noticed arms quivering from exhaustion.

As we entered the camp, I found it already filled with soldiers eating and chatting over campfires, finished training for the day. With the past hours spent training, though, the part of me that had worried over my eptitude as an officer had been squashed to nothing more than a small whisper in the depths of my mind, and I didn’t spare more than a thought to question whether I had pushed the archers too hard today. Besides, as they were welcomed back into their tents, smiles passed between friends and family members, and I knew they couldn’t be too upset by the rigor of the afternoon.

One of the smiles flashed in my direction. I was prepared to ignore it – likely the female meant it for one of the faeries around me – until a wave accompanied the smile and I remembered the female. I had met her last week, when she’d lamented over the disappearance of her foster children. Now, she dressed in the crisp green-and-gold Military uniform and her eyes filled with glee instead of tears, but her tall, willowy form was unmistakable.

I approached her tent, shadowed by my guards, and she straightened into a smooth salute before embracing me.

“Lieutenant General!” she practically squealed. “I can’t thank you enough for your generosity – your miracle is all the children have been talking about for days. They cherish the statue you mended, and we keep it just behind the tent for them to visit whenever they wish. Please, won’t you join us for dinner?” She lifted the tent flap before I could answer, but the move wasn’t nagging or insubordinate, simply genuine excitement at welcoming a friend. I couldn’t refuse, and I didn’t want to.

Inside, eight sets of bunks lined the tent, four nestled parallel on each side. Cloaks were strewn across the bedposts to create makeshift curtains as a small measure of privacy. Where exquisite rugs formed the floor of my tent, only a layer of rough canvas protected here against the grass underneath. There were no chairs, not even a table.

Children in green livery chattered and laughed, three or four lounging on each bed. They ranged in age from infancy to early adolescence and in appearance from short to tall to pale to dark-skinned to scaly to feathered to furred. I recognized a few of them, but it wasn’t a poor memory that kept me from remembering the rest – many hadn’t accompanied the female when I’d winnowed her to the training grounds. I spied another female, auburn-haired and aquiline, with a child on her hip, and the tall female – my friend? – came to her side to give her a peck on the cheek.

“We have a guest!” she said, but the announcement was unnecessary. During my quick appraisal of the tent, a wave of awed silence had crashed over the children. They stared at me with open mouths and the undisguised emotions of faeries their age. That was shock, yes, but was there _delight_ behind those wide eyes?

I had guessed correctly. An instant later, mouths curved up into broad grins.

“It’s the High Lady!”

“Lieutenant General!” the aquiline female scolded the child that had cried out. If it was even possible, eyes grew wider as together, the children placed fists across their chests. Their eyes never left mine, and smiles stayed plastered on their faces as they saluted.

They were… happy to see me. I suppose my magic had made quite the impression on those who had witnessed it, but the majority of the children here hadn’t been there when I’d mended the statue. It was possible they simply remembered me from carrying them to the training grounds, but surely that small courtesy wasn’t great enough to warrant such a welcome.

“We do apologize, Lieutenant General. The rumor mill has churned out quite a number of stories of your marvels. We’ve tried to put a stop to it, but trying to erase gossip is like trying to erase the sun in a place like this.”

“Nonsense,” I told her and meant it. “I should be thanking you all for welcoming me so warmly. In fact…”

I trailed off as I cast my gaze across the room, searching for adolescent eyes that had regarded me with suspicion last time we’d met. But the oldest eyes, other than those of the two mature females, hadn’t yet left behind the animation of middling childhood.

“Where are the older children?” I asked the females. A pit formed in my stomach even before I saw their faces fall.

My friend busied herself by taking the child from her partner’s hip, diverting my question toward the aquiline female.

“Everyone must pull their weight,” she said softly.

“No.” It was barely more than a whisper.

Her sad eyes met mine.

“They’re just children.”

“Everyone must pull their weight,” she repeated.

The room had gone still, the other children confused at the sudden tension that held the tent. They were too young to understand war. Too young to realize the horrors their foster siblings, their friends would face in just a few weeks.

My friend gave a decisive sniff to clear the air and turned to the child on the bed nearest her. “We all must pull our weight. Tell the Lieutenant General how you’ve been helping in the camp.”

The child, a short, copper-skinned young boy, beamed as he proudly told me, “I mended eleven jackets today!”

“I chopped thirty-seven onions!” came a shout from across the room.

The brief reign of stillness over the tent came to a definitive end as the children boasted their achievements, each trying to out-do the others.

“I baked two hundred and eleven loaves of bread!”

“I learned how to build a fire!”

“I washed four hundred and three smelly socks!”

“I told eighteen stories!”

My ears latched onto that last one.

“Stories?”

A girl who appeared about the age of an eight-year-old human child, with tight braids and skin that sparkled nodded eagerly back at me. She was too excited by my interest to notice the jealous looks the other children shot at her.

“Would you tell me one of your stories?”

Her enthusiasm overwhelmed her ability to speak. She leapt to her feet, and the children sorted themselves in a circle around her. One tugged my hand to sit on the bed next to her, and I acquiesced as the aquiline female – Leela, and her partner, Tessa – brought me a steaming bowl of stew. My stomach growled in appreciation, though my appetite had disappeared with the mention of the older children.

As I took a few requisite bites of the stew – somehow incredibly rich despite the limited camp supplies – the children argued over the story.

“Nightmare! Nightmare! Nightmare! Nightmare!” The girls took up the cry like a battle chant and drowned out the boys’ protests for a story about the human realms. The storyteller too voted for the nightmare, and her decision settled the argument. The girls squealed, rushing to blow out most of the candles to dim the light within the tent. The remaining candles they brought to the center of the circle.

The storyteller cleared her throat. The words that came out held none of the brightness she’d shown just moments ago, twisted instead to spook the other children.

“Long ago, deep within the Illyrian mountains, there lived a male who killed everything he touched…”

A shiver ran down my spine. I should have suspected. Here, in Prythian, in the Spring Court, a nightmare was not simply a scary story – it was a story of the terrors of the Night Court. My home, sullied with the lies the High Lords of Night had perpetrated for millennia. And the male who killed everything he touched… that was my mate.

She thrust her hands over the candles as she spoke, casting flickering shadow patterns across the walls of the tent. I listened, in horror, in fascination, to the preconceptions about the Night Court, stew forgotten on my lap. Leela next to me squeezed my hand.

“You’re safe. You escaped,” she whispered in my ear. Mistaking my horror at the rumors for horror at the mention of my so-called imprisonment within the Night Court.

I had known how feared my home was by the other courts – I myself had once feared the sprawling expanse at the northernmost edge of Prythian – but to hear that fear put into words, to hear it used to frighten children emphasized the reality of our pretense.

It was not amusing. It was not the game I had come to think of it as. This was my mate’s reputation – _my_ reputation, though they didn’t realize – that was slandered. 

And it indeed frightened the children. With the flick of a finger, the storyteller elicited screams from her foster siblings as the shadows lengthened. She spoke in a low voice that belied the utmost gravity. The notoriety of the Night Court’s brutality and vengeance was so palpable that it bridled the children’s giddiness. The Court of Nightmares had been brought to life, and the Court of Dreams was nowhere to be found.

Oh, how I longed to amend the narrative! To revise the misconceptions and right the untruths about my mate and my home. To show them the Sidra and the Rainbow, the cobblestone streets and the night sky as it was meant to be seen. To illuminate Rhys’s heart of gold.

One day, I would.


	17. Chapter 17

The days soon became routine.

I approached Lucien the second day in the camp in the hope that he too sought a sparring partner to keep his combat skills sharp. He was pleasantly surprised by the suggestion, and we set up a schedule to train at dawn before our duties as officers claimed our attention.

Lucien did not go easy on me. Unlike sparring with Cassian, who had taught me during our sessions, these fights felt more real because I had only memories to guide me. I hadn’t wanted to admit that I needed an instructor rather than an equal partner out of fear that Lucien would refuse my offer, but it became clear enough when he pinned me to the ground within seconds of our first fight.

My only advantage over his centuries of battle training was that I had learned the Illyrian style of hand-to-hand combat, harsher and less graceful than the flowing Seasonal Court forms he used. I managed to land an elbow to his kidney, once, remembering a move I had seen Azriel pull, but that was the extent of my success.

He didn’t begrudge me the way I worried he would. Instead, over the next few days, he began making subtle comments. Not tips, not quite, but general statements about fighting, so casual that I didn’t realize their objective until I had assimilated the advice into my forms. It wasn’t enough to give me the upper hand, but it served to even the playing field some small degree. I always left our sessions sweating, and by the second week, I felt my muscles strengthening.

The archers made swift progress. Within a few days, they could move as a cohesive unit, and I began showing them more complex techniques. How to tread silently through the woods, how to identify and aim for an opponent’s sensitive areas, how to read the wind and adjust to its myriad breaths.

Like the rest of the army, the archers were a bit out of practice, but it was an easy skill to relearn. Like riding a horse. Mornings were spent working together to become one corpus; afternoons, I sectioned them off to work on individual skills – short- and long-range shots, moving and airborne targets, and the like.

Before dinner, the Generals met to discuss the war effort. Lucien and I, as Lieutenant Generals, and Tamlin, as High Lord, were invited, but not obligated to attend. We did most nights, though we had little to contribute.

The more I watched Liv, Alistair, and Celis work, the more astounded I was by their leadership. The three could not have been more different – in mannerism, in appearance, in temperament – but those differences were overwhelmed by the Generals’ utter and complete capability. Like the Military, they were a machine, well-greased and deadly. They did not yell; they did not argue. Disagreements were settled as soon as they arose, with more solutions than could possibly be implemented.

The map of Prythian that sat like a harbinger in the center of the camp slowly transformed as intelligence drifted in. Hybern’s army was massive, greater numbers than I could have fathomed as a human. And yet, he hadn’t attacked – the Spring Court or anywhere else. Alistair’s money was on Summer, as it shared a border with us, while Celis seemed confident that he would hit the center of the island, perhaps Winter or Dawn, cleaving us in two to separate Prythian’s forces from allying. Liv stayed conspicuously silent on the topic.

Tamlin’s blunder in allying with Hybern yielded one hidden advantage: the wards he stole from the Cauldron strengthened the wall between us and the human realms. It would take too much magic and too much time to bring it down anytime soon. So while the Spring Court became a buffer, a wall itself, to protect the humans, Hybern would be forced to turn his attention elsewhere. I knew it wouldn’t be enough to staunch his vengeance completely, but it could buy us time to finish preparing the Spring Court forces and to unite the seven courts.

Ugh.

This meeting with the High Lords was going to be a mess. Rhys and Tamlin commanded the largest forces in Prythian – the largest ready forces, that is – and yet, they would both have to prove their dedication to this land, having allied with Hybern in the past. Our only hope was that my presence at Tamlin’s side would stay the other courts’ hands long enough to make them listen to his explanation. I didn’t dare dwell too long on how in-depth of an explanation he would provide.

The High Lords had seen me declare my love for Tamlin Under the Mountain, had watched me die for that very love, and had brought me back to life as a reward for my sacrifice. Surely there was no greater symbol against Hybern than me. But Tarquin had flirted with me in Adriata, and he had seen me flirt with Rhys. He knew there was something between the two of us, and he would call me on my bluff the minute he heard the ridiculous story of my ‘abduction’. And with the blood rubies on both of our heads, he could very well wield that knowledge as a weapon against us.

Short of breaking into his mind, there was nothing we could do.

Rhys would have a harder time convincing the other High Lords of his loyalty to Prythian. If Tamlin’s explanation brought them to his side, they would be turned further against Rhys. I supposed there were one or two cards he could play, but they would depend on which mask he wore…

Schemes upon schemes.

I was sick of them. I just wanted to see my family again, to walk with Rhys along the Sidra, to live an easy, uncomplicated life. I wanted to be myself – thorns, scars, tattoos and all.

But my life had never been easy or uncomplicated. And when given the chance, when Tamlin had offered a life of pleasantries and painting and when Rhys had offered a life of bliss and shelter, I had refused. When Hybern captured us, I had chosen to enter into this deception. When Rhys volunteered to take me home, I had chosen to stay.

What was wrong with me? I wasn’t happy in the Spring Court. Not depressed or withering the way I had been during my last stint here, either, but still not happy. I enjoyed my work as an officer in the Military; it filled me with the strength to get out of bed in the morning. I loved the people, too. Evenings spent telling stories with the orphans, chatting with Celis, even drinking with Lucien were pleasant – certainly more fun than I had ever anticipated finding in the Spring Court.

But something was missing.

Rhys.

Vaguely, I could make out his mind behind the haze of the distance between us. He was far, so far, away. Did I need him? I certainly wanted him. His face was the first thing I saw when I closed my eyes to sleep and the last thing when I opened them to daylight. Seeing him had only exacerbated my longing. But if, for whatever reason, my plan was ruined and I was doomed to remain at the Spring Court, would I be able to? Could I bear to be apart from him, interminably? Would I shatter, like I had last time I’d been trapped here? Or was my end even worth that drama – would I simply crumple, like a limp towel cast aside after use?

No.

I would not let a male be my end. He was my mate, but he was not my reason for existence. I had a purpose here, and a job to do. People who counted on me. A court to care for.

I would not fail them.

♦♦♦

Nights were spent either telling stories with the orphans or drinking with Lucien, sometimes – oftentimes – a mix of both. Increasingly, Celis joined me and Lucien around a campfire that soon became known as ours.

I was surprised Lucien preferred my company to Tamlin’s, but he confided to me one night that the burden the war effort placed on him made the High Lord a lousy drinking partner. As with the rest of his activities, it was difficult to pin down how Alistair spent his evenings – with how reticent the faerie was, my guess would have been as good as anyone’s.

And as for Liv, it seemed the General barely slept. At any given hour, I could find her wandering the training grounds, eyes wide but not wholly present, too caught up in the machinations of her mind to pay much attention to the time of day. Her detached gaze, combined with the way she absently flicked her knives across her fingers, tended to scare away any soldier in her radius.

One evening, after training, I sequestered the most adept of the archers and bade them to follow me. There were only six with the ability required for what I had planned. I ushered them inside my tent, leaving the guards outside for the night. If they were shocked at the finery or size, they made no mention of it. At least, the archers didn’t. But the faerie already inside let out a whistle through her teeth as she watched us arrange ourselves in a circle on the rugs, no need to fight for elbow room in my spacious tent.

“Even if I made a fuss, I’m not sure I could secure such a lavish tent, Lieutenant General,” said Celis, already seated cross-legged on the floor.

“General, if you wanted a luxurious accommodation, you need only ask.” A smile pulled at my lips, and I gave her a semi-hug as I sat on her right.

I’d spoken with her at length about my ambitions for the archers, and Celis had supported me with approval. Perhaps even with admiration, although that could have been my growing confidence ascribing the emotion on her behalf.

Once all were settled, I surveyed them with eager eyes.

“I’m sure all of you are aware of the bond between the Falconers and their birds which allows the two to maneuver as one. A key connection pertains to their vision: when they wish, the faeries can see through the eyes of their falcons.”

Muted wonder radiated from the archers as they inspected Celis’s golden eyes from under the cover of their lashes. When she had divulged the information to me, I too had felt awe at the magic, but I’d felt even greater remorse that few outside the legion knew, or cared enough to know. I tried to overlook the reason for their indifference.

I gave them another moment to process the information before continuing. “I have invited the General here today so that we can learn from her how she uses enhanced vision in combat. And so that we can harness that skill for ourselves.”

The archers processed my words. Then, at once, all discipline was abandoned as astonished faces turned on me, dropped jaws and raised eyebrows transforming them into something akin to the Shapeshifters in their aquatic forms.

“We’re not Falconers!” blurted a young male. “We don’t have any sort of bond you mention.”

At that, I smiled, and I imagined that if I had seen myself, the twinkle in my eyes would have looked a great deal like Tamlin’s. “You have me.”

And then, that twinkle dissolved as I gave a demonstration – I smoothed the corners of my eyes and stained their clear blue with gold.

We spent the evening discussing not just the technicalities of the physical transformation, but the implications of it as well. Celis told us of the disorientation she felt every time she returned to her Fae body after hours soaring above the clouds with her bird. I warned my archers about the risk of losing themselves, and they insisted I was overcautious. But I remembered the times just after Tamlin had shifted back from his beast form, how he was irritable and gruff, as if remnants of the beast still lingered within him.

They assuaged my worries with promises of formations that guaranteed no archer would be shifted for longer than an hour at a time. I demanded something more concrete than simple promises, and the archers, Celis, and I spent the next hours drafting strategies. We developed plans for individual and group maneuvers, for stealth attacks from the cover of the forest and disciplined strikes when meeting an enemy face-to-face on an open battlefield.

I was eager to begin practicing the formations, but when I checked the candle, it was half as tall as it had been at the start of the meeting. I could have sworn it had only been minutes – an hour at most – that we’d been planning. I cast my mind toward the guards outside my tent, and the consciousnesses I found belonged not to the first night watch, but the third.

How had the time escaped me? Sleep was far from my mind, and the archers hadn’t worked with anything but enthusiasm – none had even cracked a yawn. But as I glanced about, I saw sleep’s sticky fingerprints on their faces: eyelids fighting an uphill battle and the beginnings of dark splotches under eyes, visible regardless of skin color. Even Celis swallowed a half-yawn, though only years of watching for the minutest of movements in the snowy forest underbrush allowed me to catch it.

I stood, and my head spun, blinding me for a second as it struggled to catch up with my body. Maybe I was a bit tired.

The archers sprang to their feet, disciplined as ever despite the late hour. I sent them to their tents with orders to return the following evening. Their chorus of salutes was lost on me as I began clearing the plans from the floor.

Firm hands gripped my shoulders as I made to straighten. Celis.

“You don’t have to keep trying to prove yourself.”

I didn’t know what she meant. I tried to tell her, but when I glanced at her face, golden falcon’s eyes captured mine, the swirling lines of her tattoo drawing me in. My head began spinning again, and whatever words I had meant to say disappeared from my mind.

“Get some sleep,” she whispered, and then she was gone.

That was the last thing I remembered before waking up the next morning.


	18. Chapter 18

I was in my tent, alone save for the guards standing watch just outside. Two nights ago, I had winnowed in a mirror from the manor out of pure vanity. I had tried to convince myself it was in order to check on my guise, but it was simple, ugly vanity.

I stood before the mirror now, gazing at the face that stared back at me. Lieutenant General Archeron. Was she the real Feyre? She was who I wanted to be, underneath all the masks and deception. I wanted to contribute to the war effort, to protect the humans and the children of the Spring Court. When the legends get written, I didn’t want to be remembered for standing on the sidelines. Whatever future offspring I might have with Rhys, I wanted them to know that _I_ was there, and that I fought against Hybern. Even if I couldn’t do anything useful.

Magic swirled within me, eager for escape. I had kept a damper on my aura since I’d first noticed it weeks ago. In the whirlwind that was the war camp, there hadn’t been time for me to examine myself further. But now I was alone, and I was curious.

I released my power. It shone through the pale silk of my bathrobe, so bright that I couldn’t help but to see it in full. I let my bathrobe slide off my shoulders, and my body illuminated the entire tent. I was a star. A fallen star, banished from the sky and trapped in a Fae body.

But I wasn’t just a creature of night. There was something different about the glow – it was richer, somehow. As if I was selling it short by attributing it only to starlight, because while starlight can be seen only at night, my aura endured through the day, too. It wasn’t Helion’s light, that shone in moments of passion. It was like…

Like sunlight touching the grass, wet with the residue of rain, refracting to cast a rainbow across the sky. Like the promise of hope, of new life, of rebirth.

Like the Spring.

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to embody the Spring as well as the Night, but that didn’t inhibit the emotion. As taken aback as I had been to see myself become an emblem of night, I was just as astounded at this transformation. I didn’t _feel_ different. For all my pointed ears, tilted eyes, and sharpened cheekbones, the sleek fingers at the end of arms that could crush stone so easily, the legs beneath me that could run for miles without tiring, I was the same person within. The huntress who had cared for her family; the human who had fallen in love with a High Lord; the coward who had slaughtered innocents.

_Be glad of your human heart, Feyre_ , my mate had told me. But how was a human heart meant to rule not one but two courts? How could I possibly–

The tent flaps rustled behind me, and I heard an intake of breath behind me.

Tamlin.

I hurriedly gathered my robe around my exposed body and glamoured myself once more. If he had seen my Night Court tattoo…

But he hadn’t. I turned around to find him with a look of awe on his face. Open-mouthed and slack-jawed, not with lust from the sight of my nakedness, but with admiration. His was the gaze of one who knew power and recognized it within me. He recognized, and he respected. For the first time, he saw me, Feyre, the faerie, the Lieutenant General, the High Lady, instead of Feyre the human.

He ran a hand through his golden mane, still long despite the close-shorn look all males in the camp had adopted. I supposed being High Lord exempted him from any of the army rules he didn’t wish to follow. No pins shone at the collar of his Shapeshifters’ uniform. Instead, the collar itself, along with the cuffs of his jacket, were a solid gold to match his hair and the buttons that ran down his back.

Tamlin was handsome, resplendent in the uniform that bespoke of Spring. But though he had spent the first years of his life in war bands, army discipline did not sit well on him. No one else in the camp seemed to notice that the uniform pinched at his neck, itching as it stifled his childish need for complete control. Or that while Lucien and I got drunk around campfires with the soldiers at night, he remained absent. Perhaps only I noticed it because I knew what a coward he truly was and because I knew that when push came to shove, no amount of discipline would be enough to keep him from deserting to protect himself.

“I wanted to see if you would like to go for a walk,” he said, a bit guilty but not remorseful for the intrusion.

I hadn’t spoken with him alone since the night we’d spent together, and curiosity outweighed my desire to remain far away from him. Besides, we would have to learn to work together – to protect our court.

“Just a minute,” I told him with a small smile. “Let me change, and I’ll meet you outside.”

He returned my smile and retreated from my tent.

It took more than a minute to don my uniform and twist my hair into its folded-under braid, but when I emerged, Tamlin didn’t begrudge me the delay. He simply gave the guards a friendly farewell – mine as well as his own, and neither followed us – and ushered me toward the woods, a hand hovering over the small of my back. I cursed his amicable relationship with the guards, and I cursed them as I realized they had allowed Tamlin to enter my tent unannounced.

“How are the archers coming along?”

“They’re so talented they make me look bad,” I laughed. “I’ve barely needed to teach them anything – I’m sure we’ll be ready to march by the deadline.”

“That’s not why I asked,” he said defensively. “I want to know about you – how are you faring? I know the camp is quite different from the manor, and I wanted to make sure you were adjusting properly.”

I had to bite back a nasty remark comparing my adjustment to his and remind myself that, whatever the implications of his words, he did not intend to condescend. I didn’t have to read his mind to know that. Once, he would have demanded that I return to the manor. Now, he asked, as gently as he knew how, after my wellbeing.

“It’s a shame I haven’t met more of the court before now. The soldiers have welcomed me like family, and the archers have been patient and supportive. They’re kinder to me than my human family ever was.”

I told him of working with Celis to modify the archers’ eyesight. I told him of my plans to include the archers in battle scrimmages like the ones I had seen between the Shapeshifters and the Falconers. I told him of the orphan children and their stories.

And, in turn, he told me of his work with the Shapeshifters. How good it felt to spend the days in the air and in the water, to stretch the limits of his power, just to see how far he could push himself.

I surveyed him as he spoke. Did he know his shortcomings as a leader? Was he aware how close he had come to destroying this court, how he would have laid it bare for Hybern to ravage as he pleased? How he _had_ destroyed his court in the forty-nine interminable years of Amarantha’s reign?

I wondered if he felt any remorse for his actions, or if he simply accepted no responsibility for any of the horrors that transpired here. It was true, he had tried to be an adequate leader. He wanted to protect the court – he had just failed miserably.

Would I fail, too? How was I to know that I would do any better than Tamlin?

Well, for one, I would never give up. He had stopped fighting against Amarantha, and he had ignored the conflict with Hybern. He may never forsake this court in name, but in his heart, he had abandoned it long ago. I refused to be so shortsighted, so allergic to striving for a better world.

Would he ever trust me once I revealed my other allegiance? Would he ever trust me to rule in his stead even if I didn’t? I desperately hoped he would, and not just for my own sake. I had seen the scars leadership had left on him. Would he retire to the countryside, finally free of the responsibility that weighed like a burden on him? Tamlin loved Nature the way Rhys loved to fly. If the opportunity presented itself, in one century or three, he might decide to surrender to his wild passion.

Would he run and leave the world to come crashing down upon my shoulders?

Would I end up like Tamlin, old and jaded, in a few centuries? Had I dug myself a hole so deep I would no longer be able to climb out? Had I reached for stars too far away? Would Fate curse me to spend the rest of my immortal life falling?

I stumbled on a root, and Tamlin reached out to steady me. He clasped my hand in his as I righted myself. I let him.

“Show me again,” he whispered. “Show me your power.”

We had stopped beneath a pine so large it would have taken five children to wrap their arms around the trunk. I looked for a sign of teasing in his words as I faced him. I found none, just earnest desire to see my aura. To see me.

Taking his other hand as well, I closed my eyes. Like drawing water forth from a well, I hauled my magic toward me. It was becoming more difficult to lift the bucket each time, as if I had to reach farther down to access the depths of the power within me. But I needed only a trickle, and the glamour was lifted.

I illuminated the forest. I was the moon and the stars and the promise of spring. I was the High Lady. And Tamlin knew it.

As I looked into his eyes, I asked myself the most important question. What would it be like to rule alongside him, for eternity? He was not my love; he was not my mate. He did not command my respect or my trust. But were we doomed to be enemies? Tamlin wasn’t evil, just misguided. He did not own my heart, but perhaps, in another time, he could become more than an obstacle.

Perhaps, once the war was over, we could be friends.


	19. Chapter 19

It took longer than I expected to find the children. I had thought they would stand out like fresh grass in the dead of winter or a comet across the endless night sky. I was wrong.

The villagers I had talked with no more than a couple weeks ago had been wholly subsumed into the mass of green and gold that was the Spring Court’s war camp. The military uniforms removed all sense of individuality from the soldiers, despite their myriad shapes and sizes. Even Leela and Tessa, who had become some of my closest friends here, were difficult to recognize amid the sea of soldiers milling about the camp.

Needless to say, if the uniforms could erase fur and feathers, it was all but impossible to discern age.

I wasted a day as I desperately sought the children with nothing but my Fae eyes to guide me. It irked me that for all my years as a hunter, spotting the smallest of movements against the forest backdrop, they did me no good. With all my squinting and wild glances, the soldiers must have thought me mad – they leaped out of the way as I searched the camp, salutes snapping into place with particular urgency.

The next day, I tried the trick to enhance my vision, but that just further flooded my senses rather than allowed me to better identify the faeries. If there was a way to find them with magic, I couldn’t think of it.

I had neither time nor patience to search each tent individually. Each day I took to find the children was another day they were indoctrinated in the brutality of war, another day they began to lose their childhood. 

The command pavilion, towering above the soldiers’ tents, caught my eye. A host of Military officers gathered around the map, surveying the latest information we’d received from Lucien’s spies. Hybern seemed poised to attack the Summer Court and cleave Prythian in two, just as Celis had predicted. Petty as they were, the Spring Court didn’t care much for the news other than to worry about how it would affect their – our – position in the upcoming conflict.

I stalked toward the officers, a path cleared through the milling soldiers by my guards and my anger. “Where are the children?” I demanded.

Blank stares looked at me. “Children?” One of the colonels raised a feathery eyebrow.

“The children you conscripted – children who should be cleaning dirty pots, not learning to hack an opponent to pieces.”

“We don’t–” Another officer coughed. “That is, Lieutenant General, the Spring Court Military doesn’t accept children into its ranks. We aren’t monsters.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and opened my mouth to remind him _exactly_ what kind of monsters lived within the Spring Court when a voice said from behind me, “What is this?”

The officers snapped to attention as Liv cleared the top step onto the command pavilion, the sunlight reflecting off her deep golden skin. Her tone wasn’t annoyed, but rather bored. Another mess for her to deal with. But where these fools failed me, perhaps Liv could help.

I whirled on her. “Are you aware that children are being trained in the Military?”

She barely looked at me. I barely registered the sharp intake of breath from the officers behind me. “If they are in the Military, then they are not children.” The General concentrated on the map, frowning and shifting a few green-and-gold figures a hair farther west. Her eyes no more than flicked to the colonel, and he hastened to her side, where she began rattling off a list of tasks to be completed before sunset.

I crossed my arms across my chest. Liv clearly didn’t understand the gravity of my plea. Her attitude tended toward aloofness, but never downright disregard. “You’re not listening to me. There has been some sort of mistake. Children – faerie children – have been conscripted–”

“It is no mistake.” She spared only a breath on the interruption before continuing her instructions. The officers glared at me, aghast that I had the nerve to question Liv’s decisions.

I took a steadying breath. Through gritted teeth, I said, “These children have years yet before they reach maturity–”

Again, she interrupted me. “And here I thought you were a huntress, not a faerie doctor.”

From anyone else, it would have been a snide remark. From Liv, whose open mind had kept her alive and won her title in the first place, the comment was genuine. Which only stoked my anger.

“Damnit, Liv, I–”

I didn’t get to finish my sentence. One moment I was standing over the map of Prythian. The next, I was falling from the platform and tumbling in the grass. My head slammed hard against the ground. It took a few wheezing moments before I could fill my lungs with air. I made to push off the ground, but firm hands held me down. From behind my head, I heard the faint rasp of a blade sliding from its sheath, and cool metal pressed against my neck.

“While you wear that uniform, your pretty titles mean nothing.” Liv crouched over me. She didn’t bother to lower her voice. Her tone was casual, and my skin began to prick as a nervous sweat coated me. “You are under my jurisdiction. If I say be silent, you are silent. If I say bleed, you bleed.” The knife dug into the delicate skin at my throat. I felt a single drop of blood trickle down under my collar. “If I say roll in the grass like an animal, you do.”

The hands on my arms and legs flung me across the ground as if I were nothing more than a child. By the time I got my bearings, Liv’s knife was back in its sheath, and she had started toward the pavilion. “And if I say to stop this nonsense about children, you will not speak another word of it.”

Oh, how I burned to bolt after her and claw at her retreating figure…

I clutched the grass, dirt congealing underneath my fingernails, to keep myself in place until she once again began to scrutinize the map.

As I stood, I shot my guards a glare. Weren’t they meant to prevent anything like this? But they just assessed me as coolly as Liv had, and from somewhere deep inside me, the wildness of Spring emerged to snarl at them. By the way my elbows and knees stung when I moved, I could tell they were chafed raw by my uniform.

Elbows and knees were not the only things that uniform chafed at. In that instant, I understood how Tamlin felt to have the collar itch, too tight around the neck.

I did not believe that rules were made to be broken. No, I had far more sense than that. The strict discipline employed by the Military placed the army in a level above the others in Prythian – Illyrians included. The Military _was_ discipline, otherwise the townsfolk would have remained townsfolk rather than blossoming into steadfast soldiers. Breaking that discipline, disrupting the chain of command threw all that work in jeopardy, and for that, I was ashamed of my behavior.

But did she need to humiliate me so? The hum of the camp had stilled, and when I glanced toward the tents, the camp rhythm resumed, my glance instantly dissolving the crowd of gathered soldiers. Eyes quickly found other matters far more interesting than the public rebuke of their High Lady. They played at ignorance, but within the camp, whispers were consumed like water. It wouldn’t be long before the entire camp had heard of the incident. I was already mortified, in preparation of training the archers the next morning. They looked up to me, depended on me. What sort of a role model stirred up trouble – what sort of High Lady engaged in such selfish public altercations? I had failed them.

And I had failed the children. What good was my title if not to use it to help those in need? What was the point of my mission in this court if not to enact change? Yes, I had a duty toward the Military as its Lieutenant General, but I had a greater obligation toward the whole of the Spring Court as its High Lady. In the passion of my endeavor to locate the children, my emotions had clouded my judgement, my reasoning.

Reasoning. Liv was a logical faerie – I was barely convinced she possessed any emotion. But instead of appealing to reason, I had attempted to bully her to get my way.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. What had come over me? What had I been _thinking_?

I hadn’t been thinking, and that was the issue. I’d simply been parroting the actions I’d seen Rhys use to get his way. But I wasn’t Rhys. I belonged to the Night Court, but I would never be the same type of leader as him. I didn’t have his power, and I didn’t have centuries’ worth of experience to guide me.

Instead, I had my power. I had my experience, transcending not only the boundaries between the courts of Prythian, but transcending the boundaries between the human and the Fae realms. And I had my dreams, my vision for a better future.

Turning my face toward the sky stained purple from the last rays of the sun, I spotted a handful of stars bright enough to stand out before full night. I took a long breath and let their light fill me.

And then I brushed myself off and started toward the tents.


	20. Chapter 20

The evening passed quickly. The soldiers did a better job of ignoring the incident than I had anticipated. The cook greeted me with familiar warmth when I came to the campfires for the evening meal, and a space had been left open for me between Lucien and Celis around the fire we had claimed. Neither of them mentioned the incident as I dug into my stew – rich spinach and a crumbly, salty cheese – though I was sure both of them had heard by now. But we ate and traded stories and laughed and drank as usual, and I limited myself to one mug of mead. I needed a clear head.

By the time the moon sat overhead in the sky, I had returned my empty bowl to the dishwashers, and I bid Lucien and Celis goodnight, leaving them in the middle of Lucien’s story of a particularly embarrassing run-in he had with one of his Day Court contacts a century ago. There were questions in Celis’s eyes as she watched me leave, trailed by my guards, but my friend was generous enough to allow them to go unanswered.

I found Liv in the center of the Military’s training area, abandoned now in the dead of night, lying in the grass. Had she been another faerie, I would have said she was stargazing, but Liv’s eyes, though they pointed toward the sky, lacked focus. Knives flashed across my line of sight and landed in the grass, sticking in an outline around her figure. The plea I whispered to my guards to let me speak with Liv in private was rejected as they turned skeptical eyes toward the flying knives.

I was debating whether to disturb her and risk a knife to the gut or wait for the game to end when she spoke.

“You may approach, Lieutenant General. Leave the leeches behind.”

She didn’t turn her head to look at me, although she did switch to throwing the knives with the hand farther from me.

I tossed a smirk back to my guards, who likely only obeyed Liv’s command for fear of those knives. The grass was damp but cool as I sat next to her. I suppose I might have used magic to dry the area, but somehow the dampness didn’t seem much of an annoyance.

When I lay back, my upturned braid dug into my skull, and I let it free for just a moment to adjust to a more comfortable style. But as I moved to re-pin my hair, Liv spoke again.

“No need. You may leave it loose.”

I thanked her silently and lay back again.

We lay there for a time, unmoving, unspeaking. It was… peaceful. A faint hum of voices and distant laughter came from the tents. Wind touched the ground, sending the grass tickling across my arms and legs and a shiver of cold up my spine. Far away, I could hear the cries of falcons, just barely loud enough to pierce the night.

Liv waited for me to speak first. But I found it difficult to tear my eyes from the stars. They called to me, the same stars that had comforted me when I had lived in abject poverty after my father had lost his fortune. The same stars that had welcomed me when I thought I’d never find a place to call home. The same stars under which I had danced with Rhys a lifetime ago.

I gathered my breath and sent a toast to the stars who listen to the pleas of dreamers before confronting Liv.

“General, I’d like to apologize for my behavior this afternoon. I undermined your authority, and I set a poor example for the soldiers. There is no excuse for my insubordination, and I will not insult you by boring you with one. Whatever the punishment may be, I will bear it honorably.”

“Further punishment is unnecessary.”

“What?” The question slipped from my mouth before I could catch it. “Forgive me, General. But… are you certain?”

“Will you insubordinate again?”

“Never. I swear on the Cauldron.”

She chuckled. “I appreciate your dedication, Lieutenant General, but that is not a promise you can keep.”

“General, I have devoted myself to this war. When the time comes, I will stand at your side.”

“Nonsense. You will be with the High Lord.”

“Tamlin? The Shapeshifters–”

“Not that High Lord.”

I stiffened. Her words, as always, did not bear the weight of their sentiment. Liv continued to stare at nothing, and her knives continued to rise and fall as if she was utterly oblivious to the gravity of the accusation she had voiced.

But I shouldn’t have doubted her, for she said, “The crickets adjusted their lullaby when you arrived. The falcons are soothed by your presence. The night isn’t quite so dark when you’re around.”

For a moment, words failed me. I hadn’t known, hadn’t noticed, hadn’t even realized that my transformation had the power to change the world around me. I had been so focused on the changes within me – my magic, my aura – that I had failed to recognize any of Liv’s observations.

The revelation took my breath away, and yet, I could feel the truth of it – if darkness bent itself around Rhys, why shouldn’t my presence affect the night as well?

“How long have you known?” I asked when I could finally speak again.

“I sensed it the first time we met.”

And all this time, she’d never mentioned it. She hadn’t told anyone that not just a member, but the High Lady of a rival court had been working within the Spring Court. Not to Tamlin, not to Lucien, not to the other Generals…

“Why?”

She understood. “You called us to war. You joined our Military. You serve the common good. You look out for the children.”

“About the children–”

“You were right.”

“General?”

“There are children in the Military, serving as foot soldiers. They snuck in thinking the uniforms would conceal the fact that they were still years away from old enough to join. I discovered their presence within the day. But they begged me to stay, and I do not turn away volunteers.”

Pragmatic to a fault. Or, at least, it would be a fault in a friend. But for the General of the Spring Court Military… I understood why Tamlin had chosen her to lead.

Her reasoning made sense, and I accepted it. True, the Military didn’t _need_ the additional handful of soldiers, but it wouldn’t hurt the war effort, either.

The war effort. It would just be war, soon. We didn’t know when, exactly – Lucien’s contacts in the other courts knew as little as we did about Hybern’s plans. We could only hope that our armies would be ready before his first attack. The month deadline that had been set at that first war meeting what seemed like a lifetime ago was fast approaching. If we could only hold out until then…

“What’s he waiting for?” The question slipped out.

But though I’d whispered to the stars, Liv answered.

“The Blood Moon.”

♦♦♦

Liv seemed to be the only one in the camp who had anticipated Hybern’s actions. And in her brilliance, she hadn’t realized that the answer wasn’t as obvious to her as it was to the rest of us.

When she mentioned the Blood Moon as we lay in the grass, I reached out to Lucien’s mind, still huddled around our campfire, and asked what he knew about it. Images of the moon, full and heavy and crimson, flooded his mind, but no thoughts of Hybern – he didn’t know. I called the Generals, Tamlin, and Lucien to the command pavilion – and Ianthe, for good measure – and they were there by the time Liv and I arrived.

“The Blood Moon,” the General explained, “is a death omen. According to legend, it was created during the forging of the Cauldron millennia ago. The gods wanted to rid the world of death, so they gathered death and folded it into the molten ore. But the Cauldron refused to be tainted by death, and it seeped from the walls of the Cauldron to fill the basin. The gods didn’t know what to do with liquid death, so they tipped it out into our realms. Death rained from the heavens and showered upon the humans. But in the faerie lands, the full moon rose to protect us on the ground. The moon absorbed death and turned the color of blood. For centuries, the moon wrestled with death until it was tamed and the blood-spattered moon could return to its true color.

“Every few hundred years, death threatens to break from its prison within the moon, and it gets one step nearer to touching us. The moon is once again stained with blood as evidence of the struggle. As a reminder of the sacrifice the moon has made for us in preserving our immortal life.

“None of us were alive for the last Blood Moon. But there are those in other courts who remember that night as nothing but a blur of chaos and destruction.”

Liv’s story drew me in so that no thought filled my mind other than the noble moon I had loved my entire life. When she finished speaking, I saw that the others had been equally captivated, Ianthe included. It was a testament to Liv’s strength at storytelling, rather than to Ianthe’s religious failings as I would have wished, that the priestess herself had listened with awe to the General. Her brows knitted together, wrinkling the moon tattoo on her forehead, as if deep in reflection.

When the story was over, it was Tamlin who caught his breath first.

“You’re certain Hybern holds to the faith?” His voice was soft, nearly hoarse.

“I would not have spoken if I was not convinced beyond all doubt.”

That she allowed gravity to touch her tone, as soft as Tamlin’s, rather than maintaining her usual calm, made my skin prickle. It did not matter that I did not believe in the faerie religion – if Hybern did, he would not risk his armies to the chaos of the Blood Moon.

“When?” My question needed no clarification.

Ianthe answered, and for once, there was no vanity on her face, only dread. Her brows had unknotted. Her eyes were wide.

“Ten days.”


	21. Chapter 21

“Strip.”

The order was barked from Ianthe’s plump lips, twisted in a sneer that dripped with pretension. Moments ago, I’d been dragged from the campfire I’d shared with Lucien and a few of the archers. Our intention was to drink away the night, as had become more common as of late. In our semi-drunken state, Lucien and I had worked ourselves into another bickering match, and I was telling – boasting – of my miserable human adolescence. I hadn’t noticed the crowd gathering around us until they were scattered by my guards, who grabbed me just as I’d neared the story of the only time Nesta went to chop firewood.

They’d winnowed me back to the manor, where Ianthe stood in the front garden, illuminated within a circle of candles, hood drawn forward to rest upon her curls like a crown. My confusion lasted only until I saw the ritualistic circle of candles that illuminated her. In the action of the war camp, I must have lost track of the days – tomorrow was the Solstice. 

Tamlin was already by her side, decked not in his uniform but in a fine green tunic threaded with gold. He studied me as the guards released me. He noted how unsteady I was on my feet, and the way his eyes narrowed at me told me exactly how amused he was.

Which was not in the slightest.

“Strip,” Ianthe repeated, allowing more than a hint of impatience to touch her tone.

“Is this really necessary, Ianthe?”

Her eyes flashed, and a soberer Feyre might have wondered about the consequences of Ianthe’s ire. But she ground her teeth and repeated the command once more.

I glanced around at the guards. They made no move to leave, not even to turn their backs to allow me a semblance of privacy. I reminded myself to dismiss them once we returned to peacetime.

It was my turn to grind my teeth. In the chill of the night, my fingers fumbled at the buttons of my jacket. Tamlin’s gaze slid like a slick oil along my body as he watched me undress. I ignored him as best I could.

My clothes removed and folded, I placed them in a neat pile on the grass and shivered, more from the touch of wind on my bare skin than from cold.

Ianthe stared down at me like a self-satisfied cat for an uncomfortable amount of time before continuing. “Feyre Archeron, tonight you shall undergo a period of prayer, fasting, and contemplation to cleanse your body and soul. If the gods deem you worthy, you shall return to us in the morning. If not, we shall honor your noble sacrifice fittingly. From this moment onward, you are not to speak. You will enter the forest. Let Nature guide you. Do not resist Its will.”

Behind me, a guard pressed a mug of lukewarm tea into my hands and indicated to me to drink. It burned my throat, but the pain was less of a discomfort and more of an irritant. I drained the mug with another gulp, inhaling deeply as the herbs cleared my sinuses. As my face tilted toward the night sky, constellations filled my vision, and I reached for the magic of Spring to enhance my vision. But the invisible hand that searched for power found nothing, no spark within the well that usually rested just behind my consciousness. I could no longer feel my magic, as if a switch had been flipped within me.

The tea. The herbs must have been laced with faebane, nullifying my power. I whipped my head forward to cast my anger at Ianthe. She had _no_ right–

A cry escaped from me an instant before I felt shards of the mug slice my bare feet. I didn’t remember dropping it. I looked across the garden. Hadn’t there been candles a moment ago? My head was fuzzy, more so now than it had been from the alcohol. I searched for Ianthe, for my guards, for Tamlin, but my eyes moved slower than my mind, and ceramic slivers dug into my feet as I stumbled on the grass.

The world went dark.

♦♦♦

When I awoke, the effects of the faebane had cleared from my head, and the gaping hole in my subconscious where my magic had lived was the only trace that lingered. My body – still naked – had been left at the edge of the forest, and I shuddered to imagine whose hands had been on me. It could only have been my guards, now absent for the first time in days, or Tamlin. I hoped for the former. I dreaded the latter.

The tattoo on my right hand remained hidden, the glamour intact despite the drug. A small miracle. Perhaps the gods were watching over me after all.

I had been a creature of the night long before ever learning of the Night Court. It was not a burden to follow Ianthe’s instructions to let the night lead me where it wished, and I obediently let it pull me deeper into the woods. The stars peeking through the foliage led me to a small outcrop above a rocky stream. This far from the fires of the camp, the moon’s light was strong enough to illuminate me, despite just curving past half a circle. Soon, it would be full. Soon, it would turn red.

Soon, Hybern would attack.

But tonight was not the time for that concern. Tonight and tomorrow, I had one job: to install myself forever in the annals of the Spring Court. After, I could worry about the war.

I sat on the edge of the outcrop, my legs hanging precariously over the water as I lay back to gaze at the stars. The ground welcomed me, blades of grass shifting to create a cushion for my head and curling around my body like a blanket to keep me warm.

The stars were farther away than I remembered, even with my Fae eyes, and once more, I strove to enhance my vision before that empty well reminded me of the faebane.

The Spring had a more tenuous connection to the night sky than my home did. I was sure if Tamlin could, he would have banished the night altogether. For my sake, or for the sake of his petty hatred. His antagonism toward Rhys had lasted centuries, and I was only the latest in the list of grievances he had written against my mate.

The stars above received no love from Tamlin, but I hoped to make them feel welcome once more in this court. Though I understood why Rhys had closed the Night Court off from the rest of Prythian for so long, we could not remain insulated forever. The Night Court was used as a threat to naughty children and a scary story told around firepits. I couldn’t find it within me to see the irony in that, only pain that I couldn’t share the beauty and peace of my home with any of my friends in the Spring Court.

Would they resent me once I revealed my other allegiance?

Tamlin would, certainly, but I had stopped caring about his feelings long ago. I was more worried about Celis, and Tessa and Leela. But Celis had intimated knowledge of my deceit – those falcon eyes saw through me immediately – and females that had taken in dozens of orphans so selflessly would wait to judge me after hearing an explanation. I only hoped it would be sufficient to retain their friendship.

And Lucien.

We had never been friends. He’d hated me from the moment he first laid eyes on me, and I’d pointed an arrow at his chest just days before returning to the Spring Court. But these past weeks, he sparred with me every morning. Most nights, we got drunk together. He had eased my hesitation about training the archers. I confided my doubts to him, and he had confided his past to me. I spent more time with him than anyone else in the camp.

Did that make us friends? I wasn’t sure. But I did know that revealing to him my ties to the Night Court would feel like a betrayal. And even thinking of how to tell him tied my stomach in knots. I picked a star that twinkled just at the threshold of my perception and sent it the selfish wish that I would never have to witness that hurt in his eyes. That I would never have him see me for the monster I was.

The mead wore off quickly, and though I wasn’t to speak, I couldn’t help laughing at the irony that I had entered into sacred contemplation drunk. Rhys would have laughed with me, but I knew the pious Spring Court would have scoffed, once for the act, and twice for my laughter.

_If I had known the amount of stiff-necked ceremony that would be required to become High Lady, I would have given up long ago_ , I would have told Rhys down our bond if not for the faebane in my system. The thought of my mate saddened me sufficiently to forgo reading into the added irony that Ianthe had prescribed the drug while I was meant to be cleansing my body.

The stars comforted me. Amid my thoughts, amid the stillness of the woods, I fell into a trance. My eyelids didn’t quite close but hovered just low enough that I could stare unblinking at the sky to pass the hours.

Not with my ears, I listened to the earth beneath me. The magic Tamlin had given me tied me to the land. There was an… awareness within me, a bundle of constant perception in the back of my head like the bridge between me and Rhys that connected me to Nature. I could feel the trees and the grass and the flowers. Their insentience did not negate their vitality. Nature was very much alive. It surrounded me, and it filled me. I was a creature of the night and a creature of the spring. This was where I belonged.

I wondered what thoughts had plagued Tamlin when he’d wandered these woods centuries ago. Had doubts haunted him the way they threatened to haunt me, hovering just at the edge of my consciousness? It was a never-ending battle to keep them at bay. A battle I had become better at winning, yes, but a battle nonetheless. It still had to be fought. It still had to be won.

Did doubts ever haunt him, even now?

Had he mourned the death of his father and brothers? Or had he resented them for leaving him responsible for a court he had never wished to rule?

I wished I could have met them, if only so that I could better understand Tamlin. For all their cruelty and prejudice against humans, would they have done a better job protecting the Spring Court from Amarantha and Hybern?

I almost laughed aloud. No, they would not. They would have allied with them immediately, as they had in the last war. As Tamlin had pretended to just a month ago.

The wind shifted the leaves of the trees around me. I closed my eyes and let it brush across my face.

But the wind died down, and the leaves continued to move. My eyes flicked open. A figure stood above me. A figure wearing tattered robes and clicking its weathered bone fingers together.

The Suriel.


	22. Chapter 22

“Feyre Archeron.” The words passed through its weathered lips in a tone that had made me shudder the first time I’d heard it. But from this Suriel, from my friend, the tone brought a smile to my lips. “You’ve come quite a way since last I saw you.”

It knew. About Rhys, about my position in the Night Court, about my deception here in the Spring. At our last meeting, it had revealed to me that Rhys was my mate. Where its information came from, I knew not. But those ancient eyes fixed on me, and in that moment, it was as if it could see into my very soul.

I propped myself up on my elbows, unashamed of my nakedness – if the creature saw my soul, what was a little skin in comparison?

“I could say the same about you. That cloak was new when I gave it to you.”

“New, yes. But well-made? No.”

I nearly rolled my eyes. The cloak had come from the same tailor who tended to all of Rhys’s clothing, and it had been the finest I’d ever owned.

“Tell me, Cursebreaker. Why do you languish in the Spring Court lands while your mate struggles to prepare for war without you? Do you know of the deals he has had to make on your behalf?”

“Deals? What deals?”

“That is his place to tell, not mine.”

I narrowed my eyes at the Suriel. “You’re the one who deals in truths. Have you come all this way simply to taunt me?”

It considered me with an unwavering gaze. When it spoke, its tone had changed, somehow darker.

“The past two times we met, you sought me out with questions. Both times, I told you to remain with the High Lord. And yet, here I find you lying in the grass, alcohol on your breath, fattened like a pig waiting for a feast, oblivious to the world outside this court. You want to be a leader, but you conceal your tattoo and hide behind that uniform. The Night Court needs you–”

“The Spring Court needs me!”

“Has its High Lord taken ill? Does the High Lord of Spring neglect to rule?”

“Tamlin–”

“Tamlin and his court are none of your concern. Do you not remember how he traded you like a beast, how he allied with the male who wants to destroy your family, how he trapped you against your will?”

I did – I _did_. It was why I needed to intercede, so that I could be the leader Tamlin could never be. But before I could explain, the Suriel continued.

“You came to this court to tear it down. What happened to that goal? How is it that I find you not only neglecting to destroy the Spring Court, but building it up instead?”

“The many should not suffer for the evil deeds of a few. The villagers are innocent – the Falconers, High Fae cast out from their homes, and the Shapeshifters who stand removed from upper court politics, they are innocent. If I shatter the court, it will do more harm than good. I found a better option – better for everyone, even if it means putting aside my desire for vengeance.”

“And what happens after?” The Suriel glided a step closer to me.

“After?”

“Yes, after.” The faerie seemed impatient and moved yet closer. “After you’ve betrayed your mate and your court, after you’ve inserted yourself into this court, you will have to let go of the lies. What happens when this court finds you’ve deceived them? What happens when the Night Court hears of your shiny new title – your shiny new friends?”

Before I knew it, the Suriel grabbed my shoulders and locked my eyes with its own.

And in them, I saw the future.


	23. Chapter 23

I stumbled from the woods just as the sky began to purple. Milling soldiers bustled across the training grounds, sharpening lances, carrying laundry baskets on hips, sparring with friends, as if this was any ordinary day. Smells drifted from the cookfires, of yeast and honey and jam for the morning meal.

Once, my stomach would have growled in response to the aromas. Now, after what the Suriel had shown me, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to stomach another meal. If what I had seen was the truth, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. It might be better if I just retreated into the forest and forfeited my place in either court. I could only pray that the Suriel’s ability to show what will be was meager in comparison to its power to show what is. And, Cauldron burn me, I prayed for the power to change the future.

I never had the chance to find out whether the holiday truly had been forgotten or if the soldiers were so disciplined as to ignore it. My feet touched the close-shorn grass of the camp, and my knees buckled underneath me. My head hit the ground as softly as if I’d fallen into a feather pillow.

That was all.

♦♦♦

There was water in my ears. I reached to itch at it and found that my arm moved too slowly, dragged through more water.

I inhaled water, and I couldn’t cough it up. My lips parted to scream, but water flooded my mouth, too.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear. When I opened my eyes, there was nothing to be seen. Just murky grey.

It wasn’t death. The Suriel had shown me what I would find in death, and it was far, far worse than this.

No, though I was trapped, there was no pain. I found that my Fae body had no need for breath, and once I stopped struggling for it, the water around me stilled. I hung, suspended in time and space. Encouraged by the water – which I became less and less convinced the liquid was – my eyes closed. My fingertips brushed my knees, gathering them to my chest.

I was safe. I was happy.

Hours passed, or years. Or perhaps it was only a few moments. There was no way to tell.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter but the gentle sway of the not-water as it cradled me in its arms, my liquid cocoon.

It was not bitter and cold, but… delightfully warm.

Delightfully warm.

Where had I heard those words?

Delightfully. I spelled the word in my head.

_D-E-L-I-G-H-T-F-U-L-L-Y._

The G-H was tricky. I remembered…

The memory floated away, slipping through fingers that hadn’t yet mastered the art of holding on.

No matter. Words had no use in this place, no meaning.

But something in that phrase had latched onto me, and wherever my mind wandered, the words followed.

Delightfully.

Warm.

De-light-ful-ly. De-light. De- _light_.

Something pulled at me, pulled me.

Light. Warmth.

I opened my eyes. And this time, I saw not murky grey, but starlight. A whole pool of starlight.

Whatever it was kept pulling at me, tugging at me. Drawing me forth. Delivering me to the world.

I began to see shadows behind the starlight, shapes and outlines of figures.

And then, all at once, I emerged. My face toward the sky, the wind on my skin.

I took my first breath.

Droplets of starlight fell from my fingertips, from damp hair that hung down my back. Dew-scented grass was beneath my feet, and where the starlight touched it, the blades sprang up, curling around my ankles.

Vaguely, I could hear a voice at my side, feminine and passionate. Triumphant.

Ianthe.

The priestess was chanting, praying. Her face flushed with devotion, and a glassy sheen glazed her eyes. The jewel on her forehead pulsed as if it, rather than her heart, forced blood through her veins.

And in the clearing before her, a semicircle of High Fae. I spotted Lucien and Tamlin and my guards. Other than them, I recognized few others.

As I stared at them, they stared back.

I remembered I was unclothed. Heat flooded my face. But as I moved to cover myself, I found not skin but cloth beneath my fingertips. Finer than silk, finer than any material I’d ever felt. Nearly as smooth as the starlight I’d emerged from…

I looked down at myself.

I was robed in starlight.

The starlight had trailed my exit from the pool, wrapping around me in folds and layers that flowed together like liquid rather than cloth. The dress glittered as the first few rays of bronze daylight met starlight, refracting into a thousand colors I’d never be able to paint. If the diamonds I’d worn at Starfall had turned me into a fallen star, now I was all the stars in the sky at once, not fallen, but awake and gleaming. Burning bright against the amber clouds.

It was through no magic of my own, but rather the magic of the pool, of the Spring Court, of Nature itself. It recognized me, acknowledged me, and accepted me. I belonged to Nature, now until my last breath.

Ianthe’s chanting reached a crescendo. She tipped her head to the honey-colored sky, golden curls rippling down her back as she offered her final oblation to the new day.

Behind me, the Solstice sun crested the horizon, and I was crowned with a halo of gold and silver.

All eyes were on me. I caught Lucien’s gaze, my light radiating so brightly that it bounced off his metal eye. I smiled at him, warm and pure.

I released the damper on my aura. As it rippled across the clearing, I became new. Not just Feyre Archeron, a huntress with an artist’s soul, or Feyre Cursebreaker, who had led Prythian from tyranny and darkness, or even Feyre the Lieutenant General, friend to all.

But Feyre, the High Lady of the Spring Court.

Blessed. Holy. Undimming before evil.

And then, as one, the High Fae knelt before her.


	24. Chapter 24

The day was a blur of merriment and feasting and music and drink and dance. I confess that I remember little of it.

I will do my best to recount it to you.

♦♦♦

The training grounds had been transformed. It seemed the soldiers had not forgotten the holiday after all.

A colossal banquet table spread across the field from the Shapeshifters’ to the Falconers’ training sections. Ivory tablecloths with intricate floral embroidery that must have taken months to stitch covered the table, and hundreds of roses in pinks and yellows and oranges were strewn atop the tablecloth, pinning it in place. Benches carved from split tree trunks had been placed on either side of the table.

At either end, so far away from the other that it was nothing more than a speck against the forest line, stood an ornate chair, gilded with roses of solid gold and cushioned in the deepest green velvet. Thrones. Two of them. One for Tamlin, and one for me.

We sat, and the soldiers, every one of them, Falconers and Military and Shapeshifters alike, filled in the space between us.

My dress of starlight had accompanied me from the pool. Where I walked, droplets of starlight left a trail sparkling in the grass. The backs of my hands, I saw, were stained with flecks of silver where the starlight refused to let go of me, and by the looks I received from the soldiers, a mix of wonder and awe, I imagined my face and hair were similarly speckled.

Though Tamlin dressed in his finest, a forest green silk tunic over brown pants threaded with gold, the soldiers paid him little heed. But he didn’t begrudge them it. He let me have this day.

Lucien, like the rest of the soldiers, remained in uniform. He and the Generals were interspersed among the soldiers, delighted with the opportunity to mingle with barely-acquainted soldiers from other legions.

The High Fae were nowhere to be seen, and for that, I was glad. They, who neither supported me nor contributed to the war effort, did not deserve this celebration. I made a mental note to confront them after the meeting with the High Lords.

If Ianthe was there, I did not notice her. Other matters captured my attention.

I could not recall tasting a better meal. Not in the human lands, before my father had lost his fortune, nor in Prythian, at the manor or in Velaris. Platter upon platter of grilled, spiced meats, so tender they fell from the bone and juice trickled down my chin. Roasted vegetables marinated in herbs and oil, crispy on the outside and velvety on the inside. A brothy soup, sour and savory and spicy at once, served in wooden bowls that we drank from straight. Delicate fish served in pearlescent shells only found at the ocean floor. Fried dumplings filled with bright green peas and fresh cheese. After number eight, I lost count of how many different types of bread were passed along the table, each with a crust that crackled and hot enough that butter disappeared into yeast-made crevices. Wine flowed freely, a sparkling summer varietal that cut through the richness of the foods.

My foolishness about never eating again had evaporated completely. As when we’d gone out to eat in Velaris, the food seemed to awaken something within me. Flavors I’d never tasted before – never even known existed. Each dish wholly unique from the rest, a sea’s worth of pearls gathered together in one basket. Plates were passed up and down the table in a never-ending stream, and the laugh only found among those who had shared the joy of a spectacular meal together cascaded across the table.

And when I thought I couldn’t eat another bite, I found the platters empty. We had eaten our fill, not a hint of hunger remaining nor a hair past full.

That was when the drums started.

At once, bonfires alighted around the perimeter of the field, standing twice as tall as me. Through some sort of magic, no smoke rose from them, only flames that licked the sky, illuminating the cloudless turquoise with crimson.

The drumbeats, low and resonant, came from near the bonfires. The faeries around me grabbed my hands and pulled me toward the music, and it was only when I approached the drums that I could marvel at them. They had been built into the ground, taut cowhide stretched over deep pits dug into the grass. Musicians held mallets as long as tree branches. As I came nearer, I felt each drumbeat reverberate throughout my body as mallets connected with drums. The sound tore through me and made the hair on my arms rise. 

It would have taken a strength I did not possess to keep from dancing. The music pulled me across the field, twisting and twirling me and the faeries whose hands still clasped mine. My dress flowed and billowed around me, suspended as if it too heard the music and couldn’t resist its allure. And when the faeries let go, carried elsewhere by the music, others took their place.

Always, others took their place. Soldiers of every age, of every shape and color. Falconers and Military and Shapeshifters. At one point, I spun, and Lucien caught me. I’d never seen him so carefree, so… happy. In his metal eye, I could see the bonfires reflected. His face was relaxed, open, and a smile played upon his features, as if the food and the music had erased all memory of the war.

In a way, it had. There was no erasing the uniforms, but as the day wore on, we began to pay less and less attention to them and more and more to each other. Truly seeing the faces of our comrades, our friends. Our family.

Because that’s what we were.

I hadn’t realized until now.

It wasn’t the family I had found in the Night Court, with whom I could always be my truest self. But there was more than one type of family. This was a family that had been brought together by war but bound together by love and acceptance. We would die for one another, and it would be our greatest honor.

By the time Lucien twirled me on to the next faerie, the sun had begun to sink low in the sky, purple and coral rays reaching toward us like fingers. Not once had the drumbeats ceased their pounding rhythm.

As I was about to collapse from exhaustion, the soldiers in a similar state, sweets appeared on the banquet table. Thousands of dainty tarts and cakes and pastries with fruits and spices I would never have dreamed of combining. Rice puddings and toffee puddings and almond puddings and thick chocolate puddings and puddings with dried fruits and puddings with caramel and puddings with compote. Spoons filled with rich egg custard and toasted sugar. Mead and honeyed wine, thick and syrupy. A fountain of chocolate pooled in the center of the table, with biscuits and berries arrayed beside it for dipping.

At the sight of the desserts, I found I was hungry once more, and this time, I ate far past the point of fullness.

I curled in my chair at the head of the table, arms wrapped protectively around my poor stomach. The faeries around me would have laughed at me, had they not adopted similar positions for the same reason. I sipped my wine and cried that I couldn’t eat another bite.

A hand grasped my shoulder.

“High Lady,” a concerned voice said from behind me. “Did my food not please you?”

I craned my head to look at the faerie.

I don’t know why I was surprised to recognize him. I should have known that such flavors could only come from one cook, who lived in a small village nestled in the heart of the Spring Court. It was his food that had nourished me after days of winnowing, he who had dared to sweeten porridge with mead and cream.

I threw my arms around his neck, tears staining his lavender beard.

“The food was magnificent. Never, _never_ have I had anything like it – and I cry because I doubt I ever will again.”

Tears sprang to his eyes at my words.

I laid a hand on his cheek. “Thank you,” I said softly.

Around us, the drumbeats accelerated, striking up the cadence of a lively jig. I took the cook by the arm, and together we danced.

Hands clasped, we leaned back and spun in circles to the wild rhythm. The stars watching over me swam in the sky. The faster I twirled, the hazier they became, until they were nothing more than blurs above me.

The drums filled me. My heartbeat aligned to their pounding. I became one with the music, and nothing else mattered.

Around us, the faeries stomped and clapped to the rhythm. Their movements coordinated precisely, as if this was a dance they had performed thousands of times.

It was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Certainly not the dancing I’d seen at last year’s Solstice. Compared to this, last Solstice was a prim affair. No, this was wild and brazen and freeing and joyful. The dance consumed the faeries with a lust for life.

The dance… it _was_ life.

The music sped up with each verse, and my fingers began to slip from the cook’s. At last, when I could hold on no longer, we let go of each other.

I spun like a top, unburdened and reckless. Vaguely, I saw faeries with shallow bowls weaving through the dancers. Within the bowls rested some sort of powder that they absently swirled with their fingers. When the music reached its climax, they tossed the contents of the bowls into the air.

For a moment, I was blinded. And then, gold dust rained down on us. It stuck to every inch of exposed skin, slick with sweat. The silver of my dress turned gold. I caught sight of one of my curls and found the golden brown had been streaked with silver and gold.

Warm hands captured mine, and I turned to find one of my guards. Worry hit me for an instant, worry that he would admonish me for dancing. But when I saw his face, worry disappeared. His face mirrored mine, warm and lively and at-ease. Tonight, he would not seek to monitor me. I threw my head back and laughed as he spun me about.

There was nothing but gold and fire and drums, carrying me through the night.

♦♦♦

I spotted Celis dancing among a few blue-skinned Shapeshifters. My friend saw my approach and sidled up next to me, hips swaying to the drumbeats.

The music was too loud for discussion, but we didn’t need words to communicate. She grasped my hand and twirled me about. I bent her into a dip so low her glossy hair grazed the grass. As her back arched, her face, stained with gold dust like mine, gleamed in the firelight.

But as she straightened, an iridescent glimmer shone through the gold. Her tattoo, swirling from her jawline up her cheek and across her brow to disappear into her hair. The whorls mesmerized me. They were so similar to the ones that snaked black-blue on my right arm. Captivating in their elegance, an iridescent sheen of green-and-gold that should have marked her dedication to the Spring Court. Yet where I wore my tattoo with pride, hers was a symbol of her exile from High Fae society. It forever branded her as separate, alone, _other_.

My stomach twisted to see how such beauty had been corrupted with such hostility. It was wrong.

I drew Celis outside the ring of bonfires circling the camp so that I could share my idea with her.

Her golden eyes searched me for ill intent. Finding none, her weathered face smoothed, brighter than I’d ever seen it.

“Follow me.”

She winnowed me deep within the forest. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the sudden loss of firelight by which to see. But when my vision settled, we were far from where I had expected.

She had brought me to the base of a massive tree, so large I could have lived comfortably in the hollow of its trunk. We had come so far into the forest that moonlight could barely reach the mossy forest floor. The tree itself, though, seemed to glow with a light of its own.

As I stepped closer, I understood. Edging from between cracks in the gnarled bark was a sticky sap that shone iridescent against the faint moonlight.

From the base of the tree, Celis took a paintbrush and a small bowl. She collected just a few drops of the sap and swirled it in the bowl. She tested the brush and only came to me when she was satisfied.

“Are you sure?”

She offered me a way out, before the sap forever stained my skin. I appreciated her concern. But I would not be swayed. I would not back down.

I told her so.

She didn’t seem surprised by my answer, and I wondered if she might suspect why, exactly, I held little aversion to tattoos.

If she did, she made no mention of it. She lifted the brush to my left forearm and began to paint.

♦♦♦

Our absence had gone unnoticed by the celebration, but as Celis and I returned to the roaring fires, the music ebbed and the dancers stilled. The Falconer General melted into the crowd, leaving all attention on me.

On me, and the green-gold tattoo that shimmered up my left arm.

It was not the awe the High Fae had displayed this morning. No, this was something else. Something… more genuine, more profound.

It was pride. The soldiers, so-called ‘lesser faeries’ and High Fae castoffs all of them, understood what it was to be mistreated. The Falconer tattoo was the ultimate symbol of that. To see it on me, adorning the highest among them and appropriated for love and acceptance rather than for hatred and division…

I had done it for them. So that they might see the possibility for a world better than the one we were born into.

Out of the crowd strode Tamlin. His clothes and face were coated in a layer of gold like the rest of us. He looked younger. Maybe it was the light that shone from behind his eyes, encouraged forth by the brief respite from war and leadership. Maybe it was his hair, unbound and flowing freely over his shoulders, golden wisps sticking to his forehead and neck and flying in the wind. Whatever it was, it suited him. He had not been born to rule. He had been born for this.

The soldiers watched Tamlin approach me. When he was near enough, he grasped my hands in his and slid to one knee. His eyes latched onto mine.

“Feyre.” His voice was hoarse. “I have loved you since the day we met. Through everything, after all you’ve done, all you’ve been through, my heart has belonged to you. It always has, and it always will.” From his pocket, he drew forth a velvet-covered box. Within it sat a massive diamond ring. “Will you do me the immense honor of becoming my wife, from now until the end of days?”

I couldn’t say no. The soldiers’ eyes were on me, believing in me, waiting for me to say yes. Waiting for their High Lord and their High Lady to become one, and for all to once more be right in the world.

I had no choice.

I nodded, unable to voice the words that would become my prison.

He slid the ring over the fourth finger of my right hand, bare to his eyes, but coated in Illyrian whorls underneath the glamour. The ring burned where it touched my Night Court tattoo, and I did not think it was simply my imagination.

Tamlin stood, cupped my face in his hands, and kissed me.

I leaned into him and kissed him back.

Applause and cries of joy came from our audience. The drums started again in full force, a merry, jovial beat wholly at-odds with the discomfort within me.

Tamlin broke the kiss and offered me his hand, a nod toward the music. The ring weighed down my hand, as if even it knew that this wasn’t right. But my fingers found his, and he led me to the field.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off my tattoo. At first, I had trouble discerning the emotion behind those glances. Was he upset that I had marked myself with a symbol of inferior faeries? Did he detest that the tattoo mirrored Night Court customs, or that it was a constant reminder of the _other_ tattoo that had once covered that arm?

But no. This emotion held no ties to anger. Instead… he was pleased.

It wasn’t just that one arm his eyes latched onto, but my other as well. Where the gaudy diamond glittered at every movement I made. His gaze was that of a haughty male, puffed up with his own self-importance. He liked seeing me marked with artifacts of the Spring Court, artifacts of _him_. Under the Mountain, the tattoo from my bargain with Rhys had branded me as Rhys’s property. Now, Tamlin believed this new tattoo branded me as his own.

His property. His fiancée.

My fingers went numb, as if the ring and the tattoo strangled me. I needed air, I needed to be alone. But the eyes of the soldiers remained on us, and this time, they would surely notice my departure.

So we danced.


	25. Chapter 25

The day of the meeting dawned at last. I had lain awake in my tent all night, worries and doubts plaguing my mind. Thousands of scenarios played out in my head. The High Lords would refuse to listen to Rhys. The meeting would dissolve into fights that ended in the destruction of Thesan’s home. I would say one wrong word, and all my work this past month would be lost.

I wasn’t the only one on edge. As I winnowed to Tamlin’s manor, finally free of my guards, I nearly ran headlong into the male himself. He was stalking throughout the manor, boots echoing with each step so loudly that the silverware on the dining table clattered and his family portraits rattled in their frames. He mumbled an apology, hasty but genuine, and continued his campaign after pressing a kiss to my hair.

Even with his back to me, I could tell he’d dressed in his finest. His tunic seemed to have been cut from the forest itself, Nature’s force and mystery both imprisoned within the viridian cloth. A narrow strip of the same fabric held back his hair, though a few strands had escaped in his restlessness, framing those intent amber-flecked eyes and curling against his neck. I spied a jacket of deep velvet thrown across the back of one of the dining room chairs, and I felt a stab of sorrow that it would cover the allure of the tunic. Military-style pressed black pants were tucked into the polished leather boots that I could hear better than see, and fat rings decorated his fingers, holding gems the size of my thumb. My own diamond nearly looked like a child’s trinket in comparison. Not to mention the heavy gold crown encrusted with even larger gems that rested just above his ears. 

And a rapier was strapped to his belt. Not the one Rhys had broken, for that was lost forever, but similar in design. The golden pommel was just a touch less elegant, the swirling enchantments just a touch less delicate. The sharp-tipped blade just a touch more dangerous. This weapon had not been made to be admired as an ornament at his waist, but instead to be used in the conflict ahead. Whether the conflict with Hybern or with the High Lords, I didn’t know.

He was resplendent. The effect of his outfit would have given me pause if I didn’t know the petulant temperament of the wearer. Even so, my lips twitched up in a smile at the impact the two of us would have. Once I too was dressed to stun.

Upstairs, Alis had already drawn a bath for me and laid my dress out on my bed. Celis had taken me to the Spring Court’s best tailor, now a seamstress for the Military, and together, the three of us had pooled our ideas to design it. The Falconer General refused to wear anything other than her uniform, so I suppose her vested interest in my own attire was her way of living vicariously through me. I had never been one to fuss over clothes, dresses least of all, but gazing at it, my stomach went queasy with anticipation. Tamlin was not my preferred company, but the two of us would be a sight to behold.

With Tamlin’s footsteps resounding throughout the manor like ominous chimes of a clock, I spent no time lingering in the bath. Alis combed my damp hair into a loose bun to one side at the base of my neck, leaving a few strands free to curl around my face. A jasmine comb Tamlin had gifted me the night of my coronation slid into place above the bun. Against Spring Court tradition, I did not forgo makeup – Alis applied a crimson stain to my lips, just a shade brighter than the one Ianthe had taken to wearing.

My breath caught when I saw my reflection. The last time my lips had been this color, I’d spent the evening in Rhys’s lap.

I cast the thought aside. Today, I did not dress to be admired for my body but to send a message to the High Lords. That an alliance in this war meant more to me than the curse of my relationships.

Lucien and Celis had arrived from the training grounds by the time I emerged from my room. Tamlin’s pacing had ceased with their arrival, or perhaps with Ianthe’s arrival, for her sonorous voice drifted up from the foyer to grate on my ears.

Their conversation stopped when they saw me.

Of their own accord, Tamlin’s lips parted in some combination of awe and lust. Lucien and Celis wore twin expressions of pride. Ianthe gave me a look of unadulterated hatred before reining it in to restrained envy.

I could not have hoped for better reactions.

The dress was, in a word, magnificent. I wanted the High Lords to understand the depth of my entrenchment in this conflict, so we had modified my Military uniform. The forest green jacket clung to my arms and chest, tapering to a point on the back of each hand and flowing over my hips into a full skirt that trailed behind me. A petticoat of gold silk covered most of my legs, hitched to one side to allow for a full range of movement. My shiny black boots were replaced with a heeled pair molded to my calves. Like Celis and Lucien, my medals and badges shone proudly over one breast, the sprawling Spring Court crest emblazoned over the other. Instead of the jasmine High Lady pin at my throat, a real jasmine blossom sat at the thin opening of the jacket’s high collar, kept alive by threads of Thesan’s healing. I did not wear a crown, and I did not need one. I was the Lieutenant General of the Spring Court Military.

As I descended the stairs, Lucien let out a whistle. “How much do you want to bet the bastard starts a fight over you?”

I chose to ignore the term he used for my mate and laughed instead. “He’s not that stupid. I’d put ten gold marks on his restraint.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Only ten? That’s a bargain. You’re on.”

We shook on it, then I stretched out a hand to Tamlin.

“Shall we?”


	26. Chapter 26

It was the clouds I saw first.

Enormous clouds drifting in the cobalt sky, soft and magnificent, still tinged by the rose remnants of sunrise, though it had been hours ago. The dewy freshness of morning lingered in the balmy air as we peered up at the mountain palace spiraling into the heavens above.

If the palace above the Court of Nightmares had been crafted from moonstone, this was made from… sunstone. I didn’t have a word for the near-opalescent golden stone that seemed to hold the gleaming of a thousand sunrises within it. Steps and balconies and archways and verandas and bridges linked the towers and golden domes of the palace, periwinkle morning glories climbing the pillars and neatly-cut blocks of stone to drink in the gilded mists wafting by. Wafting by, because the mountain on which the palace stood… There was a reason I beheld the clouds first.

The veranda that we’d appeared on was empty, save for Lucien, who had winnowed ahead to scout our arrival, and a slim-hipped attendant in the gold-and-ruby livery of Dawn. Light, loose robes – layered and yet flattering.

The male bowed, his brown skin smooth with youth and beauty. “This way, High Lord.”

Even his voice was as lovely as the first glimmer of gold on the horizon. Tamlin returned his bow with a shallow nod and kept a firm grip on my elbow as we started up the spiral stairs that climbed upward – along the bare face of a tower.

There were other palaces within Dawn’s territory – set in small cities that specialized in tinkering and clockwork and clever things. Here, though, beyond those little villages nestled in the country hills, there was no industry. Nothing beyond the palace and the sky and the clouds.

We ascended the spiral stairs, the drop off the too-near edge falling away into warm-colored rock peppered with clusters of pale roses and fluffy, magenta peonies. A beautiful, colorful death. Every step had me bracing myself as we wound up and up the tower. With amusement, I noticed Tamlin’s grip on me was as tight as my own on him.

We passed open-air chambers full of fat silk pillows and plush carpets, passed windows whose panes were arranged in colorful medleys, passed urns overflowing with lavender and fountains gurgling clearest water under the mild rays of the sun.

As we neared the open-air chamber atop the sunstone tower, I cast my mind around for consciousnesses within. I found fifteen – three courts were already here. And from the mental presences that radiated the same light, ice, and sunrise that lay within me, I knew Helion, Kallias, and Thesan’s parties were seated inside. The High Lords of Day, Winter, and our host, Dawn.

Meaning Autumn and Summer – Beron and Tarquin – had not arrived yet.

Or Night.

I was surprised Rhys wasn’t more punctual – as it was, our Spring Court party arrived a few minutes after the designated meeting time. If he was to direct the meeting, to mold the other High Lords to his will, a good show of faith would not include arriving late to his own meeting. But perhaps he was waiting to make a grand entrance.

But Beron and Tarquin… The blood rubies on my, Rhys’s, and Amren’s heads still weighed heavily upon Tarquin’s trust. And Beron was awful enough to have sided with Hybern already.

I calmed the bob of my throat as we cleared the final steps to the open doorway. A long bridge connected the other half of the tower to the palace interior, its rails drooping with dawn-pale wisteria. I sucked in a breath and placed a shield, mental and physical, around all our party, terms of peace or no.

Whatever hesitation I may have had about entering the chamber, Tamlin did not mirror. Shoulders thrown back, he drew my hand to clasp his arm and placed his other hand atop mine. The garish diamond could not have gleamed more prominently. I turned my gritted teeth into a toothless smile, and we strode into the room.

The chamber was and was not what I expected. Deep-cushioned oak chairs had been arranged in a massive oval, overwhelming the room – enough for all the High lords and their four designated delegates. Some, I realized, had been shaped to accommodate wings, and naivety got the best of me before I counted the chairs and found that Rhys’s was not. As it should be. Today was not the time to reveal his wings to the world.

Among the other courts, though, it seemed not unusual. For clustered around a beautiful, slender male who I immediately remembered from Under the Mountain were winged Fae. If the Illyrians had batlike wings, these… they were like birds.

Lucien had tutored me on the faces and names of the delegates each of the High Lords would most likely bring to this meeting. _The Peregryns provide Thesan with a small aerial legion_ , he had told me, easily identifiable as the muscular, golden-armored males and females gathered. And the male on Thesan’s left must be the captain and lover Lucien had mentioned. Indeed, the handsome male stood just a tad closer to his High Lord, one hand on the fine sword at his side. The blade, though delicate from the light metal body, curved wickedly at the end, and it was not difficult to imagine it removing an enemy’s head from its body with no more than a flick of the bearer’s wrist.

We stepped onto the polished marble floor, the stone warmed with the sun streaming through the open archways. The others had looked toward us, some murmuring at the sight of the ring on my finger and the proprietary way Tamlin held my arm, but my attention went to the true gem of the chamber: the reflection pool.

Rather than a table occupying the space between that ellipse of chairs, a shallow reflection pool was carved into the floor itself. Its bright water was laden with pink and gold water lilies, the pads broad and flat as a male’s hand, and beneath them, pumpkin-and-ivory fish swam lazily about. A thin sunstone counter circled the pool to protect the pristine water, wide enough to act as a table for those seated.

More wisteria twined about the pillars flanking the space, and along the tables set against the few walls, bunches of wine-colored peonies unfurled their silken layers. Between the vases, platters and baskets of food had been laid – small pastries, cured meats, and garlands of fruit beckoned before sweating pewter ewers of some refreshment.

But the food remained untouched, and it was no question why as I finally turned my gaze to the three High Lords themselves.

We were not the only ones to have dressed well. 

I knew them all – remembered them from those months Under the Mountain. I wondered if they sensed their power within me as their attention slid between us.

Thesan glided forward, his embroidered, exquisite shoes silent on the floor. His tunic was tight-fitting through his slender chest, but flowing pants – much like those Amren favored – whispered with movement as he approached. His brown skin and hair were kissed with gold, as if the sunrise had permanently gilded them, but his upswept eyes, the rich brown of warm chocolate, were his loveliest feature. He paused a few feet away, taking in Tamlin and me, and our entourage behind us.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice as deep and rich as those eyes. His lover monitored our every breath from a few feet behind, no doubt realizing our companions were doing the same behind us. At least, I knew Celis and Lucien would be. Ianthe probably stared down the male as a new, exciting challenge to conquer. At the look of disgust on his face when he met her eyes, I knew I was right. I fought to keep disgust from my face as well, though it roiled inside me.

“Thank you for agreeing to host this meeting,” Tamlin replied, his voice poised and confident as when I’d first met him. A spring breeze rippled through his hair. He’d loosened the damper on his power – just a bit. They all had, but I kept a tight leash on mine.

Thesan gave a nod to acknowledge the thanks, then turned to me.

I was not too proud to sink into a low bow before him, as my companions behind me did. Today, I was not High Lady of any court, not even a High Lord’s wife. No, the glittering ring labelled me nothing more than Tamlin’s fiancée. In this guise, I was far from the equal of a High Lord. So I bowed deep enough to satisfy even the strictest social protocol, the train of my dress emanating around me in a circle on the sunstone floor.

The façade held, and the High Lord of Dawn grasped my free hand in his, bidding me to rise.

“Your home is lovely,” I said with a restrained smile.

But his attention had gone to the hand of mine he held, and the unblemished pale skin of my left forearm. Where, last he’d seen, whorls of black ink had marked my bargain with Rhys. His eyes flicked to Tamlin, too polite to voice his questions aloud.

“There is much to explain,” said Tamlin magnanimously. Indulgently.

The High Lord of Dawn released me and allowed the other two High Lords to approach.

“Kallias,” Tamlin said to the white-haired one, whose skin was so pale it looked frozen. Even his crushing blue eyes seemed like chips hewn from a glacier as he studied our party and seemed instantly to dismiss me. He wore a jacket of royal blue embroidered with silver thread, its collar and sleeves dusted with white rabbit fur. I would have thought it too warm for the mild day, especially the fur-lined, knee-high brown boots, but given the utter iciness of his expression, perhaps his blood ran frozen. Four similarly-colored High Fae remained in their seats, one of them a stunning young female who had not dismissed me, a curious expression on her face.

But before I could confront her, the third High Lord at last approached from across the pool.

My father had once bought and traded a gold and lapis lazuli pendant that hailed from the ruins of an arid southeastern kingdom, where the Fae had ruled as gods amid swaying date palms and sand-swept palaces. I’d been mesmerized by the colors, the artistry, but more interested in the shipment of myrrh and figs that had come with it – a few of the latter my father had snuck to me while I loitered in his office. Even now, I could still taste their sweetness on my tongue, still smell that earthy scent, and I couldn’t quite explain why, but… I remembered that ancient necklace and those exquisite delicacies as he prowled toward us.

His clothes had been formed from a single bolt of white fabric – not a robe, not a dress, but rather something in between, pleated and draped over his muscular body. A golden cuff of an upright serpent encircled one powerful bicep, offsetting his near-glowing dark skin, and a radiant crown of golden spikes – the rays of the sun, I realized – glistened atop his onyx hair.

The sun personified. Powerful, lazy with grace, capable of kindness and wrath. Nearly as beautiful as Rhysand. And somehow – somehow colder than Kallias.

His High Fae entourage was clad in similar robes of varying rich dyes – cobalt and crimson and amethyst – some with eyes lined expertly with kohl, all of them fit and gleaming with health.

But perhaps the physical power of them, of _him_ , was the sleight of hand.

For Helion’s other title was Spell-Cleaver, and his one thousand libraries were rumored to contain the knowledge of the world. Perhaps all that knowledge had made him too aware, too cold behind those bright eyes.

Or perhaps that had come after Amarantha had looted some of those libraries for herself. I wondered if he’d reclaimed what she’d taken – or if he mourned what she’d burned.

It was his power that had gotten my friends out of Hybern. His power that made me glow when Rhys and I tangled in each other and every heartbeat ached with mirth.

Helion stopped a wise distance away and scrutinized us. His eyes, a striking amber, fell on me. And the ring. And the protective way Tamlin held me, my body just slightly too close to his, his knuckles just slightly too white to exude the calm he was trying so hard to project.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Tamlin,” Helion said at last.

“ _I_ do not play games, Helion.” The emphasis he placed on the word indicated exactly who did.

Rhys.

His name hung in the air, unspoken but felt by all.

Thesan stepped forward to diffuse the tension, ever the good host. Our seats were at the far end of the room, just offset from the delicate taper of the oval table. The seat just to Tamlin’s right sat at the head of the table – my seat.

As a High Lord’s fiancée, I should have been on his left, the seat to his right reserved for Lucien, his second-in-command. But I was no ordinary fiancée, and I hadn’t been able to find it within myself to object when Lucien had insisted I take the spot at Tamlin’s right hand.

A few eyebrows raised as we sat, Ianthe on my other side, Celis and Lucien on Tamlin’s left, but without a tactful way to phrase the question of our arrangement, the other courts stayed silent. Our party was next to our Dawn hosts, and Day sat on the other side of Dawn. At the opposite end of the table, five seats sat empty. The offset to accommodate seven delegations did not affect these empty seats – their High Lord would be at the head of the oval. I didn’t need to finish assessing the other seats to realize with a wry grin that Rhysand and I, each at one end of the table, would command the chamber.

♦♦♦

The others arrived late.

Thesan’s impeccably-mannered attendants brought us plates of food and goblets of exotic juices from the tables against the wall. Conversation halted and flowed, Tamlin and Kallias engaging in small talk and catching up on news from the past fifty years. Thesan was too polite to intrude, especially when the conversation turned to Seasonal Court politics, and Helion just watched us with a dangerous look on his face.

The female on Kallias’s left, Viviane, was Kallias’s wife. She had not been Under the Mountain. As her childhood friend, Kallias had been protective of her to a fault over the years – though nothing like the stifling protection Tamlin had tried to force upon me. He had placed the sharp-minded female on border duty for decades to avoid the scheming of his court, and he didn’t let her near Amarantha, either. Didn’t let anyone get a whiff of what he felt for his white-haired friend, who had no clue – not one – that he had loved her his entire life. And in those last moments, when his power had been ripped from him by that spell… Kallias had flung out the remnants of his power to warn her. To tell Viviane he loved her.

The day he’d returned home, he’d winnowed right to her.

The story occupied our time while we waited, Lucien asking for enough details that by the time Thesan announced Tarquin’s arrival, Tamlin and I hadn’t needed to reciprocate with our own story.

At the announcement, my mouth went dry. I still didn’t know how I would approach Tarquin, how I would explain my presence in his court a few months ago.

Tamlin covered my hand with his as Helion smirked at me. “Heard about the blood rubies.”

My court gaped at me as discreetly as possible. I had trouble swallowing. My mind went blank. All the lies that I could use would destabilize Rhys’s position at this meeting. But I couldn’t admit the truth.

So I held his eyes and told him, “It was a misunderstanding over a magical artifact that will win this war.”

Helion snorted his disbelief, and it was Tamlin’s turn to glare at him, even as his grip on my hand tightened.

But then Tarquin cleared the top step into the chamber, Varian, Cresseida, and two others I didn’t recognize flanking him. Tarquin, Varian, and Cresseida’s eyes fixed on me, took in my position within the Spring Court and my military-style dress. Only Varian was obvious enough to glance at the empty Night Court seats.

Tarquin dismissed me and made vague apologies for their tardiness, blaming it on internal Summer Court affairs. Possibly true. Or he’d been deciding until the last minute whether to come, despite his acceptance of the invitation.

He and Helion were tense, too, and only Thesan seemed to be on decent terms with him. Neutral indeed. Kallias had become colder – distant.

But the introductions were done, and then…

An attendant whispered to Thesan that Beron and _all_ his sons had arrived.

The smile instantly vanished from Lucien’s mouth. The violence simmering off him was enough to boil the pool at our toes as the High Lord of Autumn filed through the archway, his sons in rank behind him. His wife – Lucien’s mother – was nowhere to be seen. She must not have made the cut.

Beron, slender-faced and brown-haired, didn’t bother to look anywhere but at the High Lords assembled. Not even at his youngest son. But his remaining sons sneered at us. Sneered enough that the Peregryns ruffled their feathers. Even Varian flashed his teeth in warning at the leer Cresseida earned from one of them. Only Ianthe preened under their lustful gazes. Their father didn’t both to check them.

But Eris did.

A step behind his father, Eris murmured, “Enough,” and his younger brothers fell into line. All three of them ceased sneering at all but Lucien, who crossed his arms in an attempt at indifference. I narrowed my eyes at Eris, wondering what his game was.

Whether Beron noticed or cared, he did not let on. No, he merely stopped halfway across the room, hands folded before him – as if we were a pack of wild dogs.

Beron, the oldest among us. The most awful.

They sat, filling the gap between Tarquin and Kallias’s parties.

The five seats at the end of the table compelled everyone’s attention.

There were no more attempts at small talk. We sat in silence, complete save for a few murmurs within delegations. Tamlin hadn’t released my hand. I didn’t mind. I was as on-edge as the rest of the courts, and it calmed me to have something firm to grasp as we waited.

I wasn’t nervous, exactly. But my excitement at seeing my mate was tainted by the gravity of the meeting, and of our roles in it. Rhysand’s task in uniting the seven courts would be difficult enough without the added strain of our lies. If I couldn’t maintain my guise…

My hands went clammy, and, feeling them, Tamlin whispered to me, “There’s still time to back out. Celis can take you home–”

“No,” I cut him off. “I need to be here.”

In the silence, I could only hope our conversation was too hushed to be overheard. If the other courts were eavesdropping, they made a good show of hiding it. But then Tamlin brushed one of my stray curls behind my ear, and the movement caught the other parties’ attention. I earned another smirk from Helion, and a mass of leers from Beron’s sons.

My breathing quickened. This was not the mask I meant to project. I couldn’t be the delicate female for whom Tamlin had gone to such lengths to protect – I had to be strong and to show the other courts that strength. But the mask kept slipping though my anxiety-greased fingers. My heart was pounding so loudly it shook the water in the reflection pool.

No – that was impossible. I checked that my aura and magic were bound tightly within me, though even if I’d released my power, I wasn’t strong enough to…

 _I_ wasn’t strong enough.

The other courts had turned their gazes from me and instead toward the open doorway, where the clattering of boots echoed on sunstone tiles and sent ripples scattering across the reflection pool. A lazy, unaffected stroll.

The Night Court was here.


	27. Chapter 27

My family was just as I saw them in my dreams. Cassian and Azriel wore their usual Illyrian armor, Siphons gleaming on the backs of their hands, their shoulders, their knees. Their blades were sheathed along the column of their spines, nestled between the massive wings that they kept tucked close to their bodies. Massive, intact wings. Last I’d seen them, Cassian’s wings had been shredded to ribbons. I nearly cried with relief to see them, whole and powerful, behind him.

Mor had forgone her red gown for one of midnight blue, cut with the same revealing panels and full, flowing skirts. And yet, there was something… restrained in it. Regal. She had once told me that her position within the Night Court was similar to that of a human queen. In this dress, I saw and believed it.

There was no sign of Amren, who must have stayed behind to govern Velaris. It wasn’t her absence that bothered me, though, but rather the male who had taken her place and the fourth spot in Rhys’s delegation.

Keir. 

There was enough similarity in his face to label him Mor’s father. It infuriated me that matching blonde curls and high cheekbones kept the male who had caused her so much pain tied to her forever.

It infuriated me even more that he had been invited to this meeting, and the pit in my stomach dug a little deeper as I remembered the Suriel’s words and wondered whether this inclusion was part of a deal Rhys had had to make in my absence.

The disgust that tainted my face upon seeing him melted away as I turned to my mate.

Rhys was clad in his preferred jacket and pants of the deepest black. Night Triumphant. Simple, stark, brutal.

Beautiful.

Perfect, except for the faint scar across his cheekbone, where Tamlin had opened his skin and spilled his blood. But even that did not detract from his beauty.

No crown sat on his raven hair. It was a reminder that his political control was not his only source of power.

A reminder was unnecessary. The sunlight streaming into the room from the archways became muted as he entered the chamber. He didn’t quite allow tendrils of darkness to emanate from his body, but his tanned skin glowed golden against his clothing that trapped all vestiges of light. Here was the most powerful High Lord in history.

His violet eyes found mine instantly.

_You look absolutely stunning._

I forced a smile down. _You’re not too shabby yourself_.

Their party moved to take the remaining empty seats, Mor and Cassian on either side of Rhys, and Azriel at Mor’s other side, as far from Keir as possible. Dawn Court attendants offered refreshments, but they waved them away as the rest of us had.

No one had said a word, not even Thesan to welcome the Night Court delegation.

But that was an errant thought, for my eyes were still fixed on Rhys. And his on me. I could barely feel Tamlin’s hand crushing mine.

A light breeze passed through the open-air archways, ruffling Rhys’s hair and sending the flowers’ perfume to waft across the chamber.

As the scent passed, the assembled parties sniffed the air. And then once more, identifying something amiss in the air.

Confused gazes shifted from Rhys to… me. And eyes widened in horror.

The mating bond. They could smell the mating bond.

Oh, gods. I’d been a fool to come to this meeting. How could I have been so stupid as to believe that I’d be able to feed my lies to the most powerful beings in Prythian?

I tore my eyes from Rhys and focused on the coral fish as I strove to calm my breaths. The weight of their gazes pressed down on me. The silence threatened to crush me.

And then, a brave voice spoke out.

“The… bond. What happened?”

It was Viviane.

At last, Rhys turned his attention from me.

“Hybern broke it.”

His words held a carefully-measured amount of indifference, just enough to show how hard he fought to remain calm.

Beron rolled his eyes. “It’s stinking up the whole chamber. If Hybern broke the bond, we shouldn’t have to smell it.”

“I said the bond is broken, not _gone_.” Confusion again rippled throughout the chamber, and Rhys made a show of gritting his teeth. “It’s as if she has… rejected the bond.”

It was a clever evasion. Not only did the comment elicit looks of pity from Viviane, Varian, and Cresseida – and derision from Beron and his sons – but it was another subtle reminder of Rhys’s strength that a one-sided bond was strong enough to be detected by others.

Helion shook his head. “That’s impossible. No Fae have that kind of power.”

“No, but the Cauldron does.”

“The Cauldron’s been missing for millennia,” said Kallias. “You can’t expect us to believe the King of Hybern has it.”

“We’ve seen it.”

“And why should we trust Amarantha’s Whore?” I had to temper a burst of blind aggression that rose within me at Beron’s comment.

“I’ve seen it.”

The words came from beside me. Tamlin. I didn’t have time to wonder why he had come to Rhys’s defense.

“I’ve seen it,” he repeated. 

Beron leaned forward. “And why should we trust _Hybern’s_ whore? Last I heard, you’d sold out your court to him.”

“I understand there is much you all want to know, and I’m prepared to answer anything you’d like. But then _ask_ , for the Cauldron’s sake, just _ask_ instead of tossing around insults.”

Despite the heated words, Tamlin’s hand was cold over mine. Cold, and calculating. He fixed Rhys with a haughty glare, and it clicked into place. He wanted to tell his side of the story before Rhys stole the opportunity. Because whoever explained first had an immediate advantage.

But Rhys’s face remained calm, unaffected by Tamlin’s maneuvering.

Thesan, ever the host, entreated to diffuse the tension. “I’ve heard many rumors of your actions these past months, Tamlin. It’s clear the Spring Court is prepared for war. I’d like to know whose side you’re on, and I’d like to know why your allegiance is in such question.”

A few nods throughout the chamber.

Tamlin straightened and adjusted his grip on my hand. “I fight for Prythian. I always have, and I always will. The rumors of my alliance with Hybern are just that – rumors. I requested his help with an… issue, and he obliged. I’ve had nothing to do with him since.”

There was a pause as the courts digested the information.

“Dare I ask about this issue of yours?” Helion’s tone was lazy, teasing. He could barely decide whether he wanted to direct his smirk at Tamlin or Rhys.

He knew.

I didn’t give either of them the chance to answer.

“Me.” I threw all my anger toward Tamlin into the glare I fixed on Helion as I prepared my next words, careful not to implicate my mate. “Tamlin sought to protect me.”

But the arrogant, selfish male beside me couldn’t allow the matter to rest at that. “From Rhysand,” he said. He lifted a hand to stroke my cheek. “All I wanted was for my love to be returned to me. And now she’s back where she belongs.” His eyes were on me as he spoke, a gaze of carefully-crafted love that portrayed just the right amount of affection and possession. And then he turned that gaze to Rhys as he wrapped his arm around me, drew me toward him, and pressed his lips to my temple.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to burn that arm to a crisp, wanted to wash away that kiss, scrubbing far past the point of ruining my skin. I was going to explode with rage at his presumption. I was going to–

_Easy_. Rhys’s voice was a balm to my fury. _Thesan certainly wouldn’t be pleased if you incinerated his home_. Just as quickly as the crack in the black adamant fortress of his mind had opened to speak to me, it closed again, and he was gone.

It was enough for me to regain control of myself and remember my goal. My duty to the two courts that relied on me to defend them in this war.

“So you double-crossed Hybern? Not a very noble action for the ones who preach righteousness.” Tarquin crossed his arms, ignorant of the tension that bubbled within me, only a few seats from him. A special glare he reserved for Ianthe and the crimson stone that rested on her forehead. "That explains why the Spring Court is hastening to mobilize its illustrious Military. Glad to see the gods are on your side.” 

“I did what I had to in order to protect Feyre. And the might of the Spring Court’s forces is more than enough to compensate for any retaliation Hybern may pursue due to my actions.”

Kallias spoke up. “Let’s talk numbers, then. What can the Spring Court contribute to this war?”

Tamlin’s laugh was bitter. “What kind of fool do you take me for? I will not disclose sensitive information in the presence of the enemy.”

Again, that haughty gaze settled on Rhys, and this time, it dissolved his casual demeanor.

“ _I_ am not the enemy.” His voice was soft, yet it pierced the room. “Whatever our differences, Tamlin, I will not allow them to jeopardize this war. I have been fighting Hybern since before you were born, and I will continue to do so until I draw my last breath.” In his intensity, the darkness that swirled about him flared, dimming the afternoon light.

Thesan gave him a flat, unamused stare, and Rhys reluctantly reined in his magic. “It seems it’s your turn to explain, Rhysand.”

“I’ll tell you whatever you wish to know.”

Helion was the first to leap at the invitation. “Let’s start with why you called this meeting.”

Rhys directed his answer toward all the assembled delegations. “We are on the brink of war with Hybern. If Amarantha was any example, he seeks to destroy the human lands, tear down the wall, and take Prythian for himself. I don’t think I need to explain to any of you why that is not in your best interests. He’s spent the past decades grooming his armies, and he’s in possession of the Cauldron. If we remain fractured as we are, this is not a fight we can win. We _must_ combine our forces if we are to have any hope of defeating him.”

Only half a beat of silence before Beron let out an unamused laugh. “Did you practice that speech in the mirror, Rhysand?”

“It’s the _truth_ ,” Mor insisted.

“Let the males handle this, darling.” A chorus of cackles from Beron’s sons.

Beside Mor, Azriel clutched her hand and said softly, “You will not speak to her that way.”

“Or what?” jeered the flame-haired male on Beron’s left. “You’re nothing but an overgrown bat.”

“That’s all any of them are.”

My spine stiffened at Tamlin’s words, and a pit of dread formed in my stomach.

No, not now. Tamlin couldn’t reveal the secret of Rhys’s wings now, when the courts were already turning against him. He wished to wield the information like a cudgel, an axe poised to deliver the killing blow upon Rhys’s neck.

Unable to touch his mind for fear of revealing my true allegiance, I tried to catch his gaze, to signal somehow to him that this was not the time or place for revenge. To at least ask him for a hint of mercy. But a smile played on Tamlin’s lips, and I knew he would show none.

He feigned surprised at the confused faces around the chamber. “None of you know? The all-powerful High Lord of the Night Court is an Illyrian bastard like the rest of the mongrels.”

The look Rhys shot him was death. “I’m not doing this, Tamlin.”

He turned to me. “You were there, Feyre. You saw his wings – garish, membranous things. Remember?” The usually-playful twinkle in his eyes was malicious.

I vowed that one day, I would kill him.

But for now, I dusted off my mask of innocent puzzlement. “What are you talking about?”

Tamlin couldn’t control his shock. “But–” he sputtered. “His, his _wings_!”

Perhaps it was wrong of me to undermine my court in that way, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I refused to let him destroy my mate. Tamlin sat there like a sputtering fool for another moment before Lucien drew him aside to whisper in his ear, likely some drivel about Rhysand poisoning my mind.

I seized the brief pause as an opportunity to redirect the conversation, the only productive contribution to the meeting I’d been able to make thus far.

“I apologize for the accusation, my lord,” I said to Rhys, head slightly bowed. The portrait of a demure fiancée addressing a High Lord of Prythian. “You were discussing the threat posed by Hybern?”

_My lord?_ I could hear his smirk.

_Don’t get used to it._

Rhys cleared his throat and resumed the conversation with that casual grace only he could exude, as if nothing had happened. Beron’s face was still that of a skeptic, and it was to him Rhys spoke. “The threat is real, and the Cauldron is real.”

“What proof do you have Hybern is in possession of the Cauldron?”

“I told you, we’ve seen it. We followed its signature to Hybern’s castle with every intention of destroying it.”

“What went wrong? Not as powerful as you’d like us to think you are?”

“We were _ambushed_.” Anger edged Rhys’s words, and the look he shot Tamlin told Beron all he needed to know about what, exactly, went down at Hybern’s castle. “We–” 

“Enough.” There was something darker in the High Lord of Autumn’s tone. Dangerous, where before it had threatened only to inflict blows on the ego. His lips turned up in a snarl. “You know what I think? I think you two need to take your lovers’ spat outside and leave the future of Prythian to the adults. You,” he jabbed a finger toward Tamlin, “Have pissed off Hybern because you’re nothing more than a child who doesn’t understand politics, and you,” he turned his finger toward Rhys, “Want to start a war over unrequited love. I refuse to lead my people to slaughter over a female.”

Silence. None spoke, in favor of Beron or against him. Despite the cruelty of his words, I couldn’t refute them. There were thousands of arguments I wished to hurl at him, but they would fall on deaf ears if they came from me, the female in question.

But then Tarquin released a breath and said, “This war is not Feyre’s doing. We’ve clashed with Hybern countless times, and what peace we’ve enjoyed has only ever been tenuous at best.”

I had thought Beron’s tone saturated with condescension. I thought wrong. “You defend her? She, to whom you’ve issued a blood ruby?”

“She and Rhysand stole one half of the Book of Breathings. It exists to control the Cauldron. If Hybern truly has restored the Cauldron, it is our only hope of nullifying its power.” He cocked his head at me. “And I do not believe Feyre would ever consent to aid Hybern.”

I waited for the crushing blow, waited for him to expose my deceit, my lies. But it didn’t fall, and I was left wondering if perhaps it wasn’t too late after all to hope for friendship with the High Lord of Summer.

Beron scoffed and turned his hostility toward Winter at his right. “I would have thought you, of all people, Kallias, would show at least some hesitation to allying with Amarantha’s Whore. After what she did to your court.”

As one, the Winter Court delegation confronted my mate.

Rhys said softly to them, to everyone, “I had no involvement in that. None.”

Kallias’s eyes flared. “You stood beside her throne while the order was given.”

I watched, stomach twisting, as Rhys’s golden skin paled. “I tried to stop it.”

“Tell that to the parents of the two dozen younglings she butchered,” Kallias said. “That you _tried_.”

I had forgotten. Forgotten that bit of Amarantha’s despicable history. It had happened when I’d first come to Prythian – a report one of Lucien’s contacts at the Winter Court managed to smuggle out. Of two dozen children killed by the “blight”. By Amarantha.

Rhys’s mouth tightened. “There is not one day that passes when I don’t remember it,” he said to Kallias, to Viviane. To their companions. “Not one day.”

He had told me once, all those months ago, that there were memories he could not bring himself to share – even with me. I had assumed it was only in regard to what Amarantha had done to him. Not… what he might have been forced to witness, too. Forced to endure, bound and trapped.

And standing by, leashed to Amarantha, while she ordered the murder of those children–

“Remembering,” said Kallias, “Doesn’t bring them back, does it?”

“No,” Rhys said plainly. “No, it doesn’t. And now I’m fighting to make sure it never happens again.”

Viviane glanced between her husband and Rhys. “I was not present Under the Mountain, but I would hear, High Lord, how you tried to… stop her.” Pain tightened her face. She, too, had been unable to prevent it while she’d cared for the Winter Court during those fifty years.

Rhys’s voice was rough as he said to Kallias, “When your people rebelled…” They had, I recalled. Winter had rebelled against Amarantha. And the children… that had been Amarantha’s answer. Her punishment for the disobedience. “She was furious. She wanted you dead, Kallias.”

Viviane’s face drained of color.

Rhys went on. “I… convinced her that it would serve little purpose. She backed off from killing you, and I thought the matter settled. I swear to you, Kallias, I didn’t know about the younglings until the order had been sent.”

“Their minds were shattered,” he said dully.

“A daemati went with them. She wanted you to think it was me. She wanted to create rifts between us so we could never ally to overthrow her.”

“You did a nice job of that yourself when you climbed into her bed.” Thesan, at last unable to remain diplomatic.

Rhys stood and fixed him with a dangerous intensity I usually attributed to Tamlin as he leaned forward. “I will swear on anything you place before me that it was only to protect my people. I hated her with every fiber of my being. Don’t think that just because I warmed her bed, she exempted me from the… the torture she put the rest of you through.” A pause, and that intensity vanished, leaving his voice hollow, empty. “I felt _everything_. I was trapped – I couldn’t do anything, speak out against her. I was powerless to stop her as she…”

And I watched helplessly as a sob caught in my mate’s throat and he began to cry.


	28. Chapter 28

Mor tugged at Rhys’s arm and pulled him to his chair, at once both firmly and tenderly. Her face twisted in agony – she hadn’t known, hadn’t understood the depth of his trauma. He’d kept his nightmares from her, hidden so as not to cause her any worry. So as to spare her the pain that now crossed her face.

Cassian and Azriel wore twin expressions of shock and guilt. And yes, pain as well, for being unable to ease their friend’s suffering, now and for the last fifty years.

I couldn’t control my own horror at what Rhys had been forced to reveal. The torture at Amarantha’s hands, and the torment of bearing witness to her torture of other faeries, mental shields shattered and screaming every moment of their pain until released by the bliss of death. It was a wonder he could fall asleep at night, let alone rule the largest court in Prythian. Let alone admit the grim truth to a group of contemptuous High Lords who would have preferred to see him dead.

From the revelation or from the vulnerability so wholly uncharacteristic of the formidable High Lord of the Night Court, the other courts were at a loss for words, and Mor took the opportunity to speak.

“Are you proud of yourselves?” She held the eyes of each of the High Lords in turn, pressing them to meet the gaze of the Morrigan. Reminding them of who she was, and of what her gift entailed. “Given the chance, each of you would have made the same choices he has. Each of you fought to protect your lands, your home, in any way possible. How dare you criticize Rhysand for doing exactly what you yourselves would have done in his place?”

Kallias and Tarquin had the sense to look abashed, and were those flickers of empathy I discerned from Tamlin and Thesan?

“If you still doubt me,” Rhys said wearily, “Remember that it would be much simpler for me to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”

Helion leaned back in his chair, lounging as if this was a picnic on a summer day. “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, then, that you speak true. Why hasn’t Hybern attacked? If he has his armies and now the Cauldron as you say, why the delay?”

Rhys shook his head. Mor, Cassian, and Azriel, and the rest of the delegations for that matter, were at a similar loss.

I was surprised. Liv had solved the question weeks ago, and had I been better-versed in the astrological calendar, even I could have deduced the answer. It was a measure of how poorly the other courts regarded the faith all of Prythian claimed to follow. And a measure, however slight, of the merits of the Spring Court’s piety.

“Perhaps I can shed some light on the issue.” Ianthe, a provocative smile on her face. Fitting for the High Priestess to explain, but how I wished she showed some restraint. “Hybern venerates the gods as we do. He will not risk war under a Blood Moon.”

Still, confusion throughout the chamber.

Ianthe let out a sigh, halting her exasperation just before it reached the point of rolling her eyes. “Six days. The first Blood Moon in centuries rises in six days. I trust you all need no reminder of the significance of such an event.”

Beron did roll his eyes. “You can’t possibly expect us to believe in that superstitious nonsense.”

“Whether or not you believe is not our concern,” I told him. “What matters is that Hybern believes in the power of the Blood Moon, and he will delay this war until he believes the danger has passed.” I opened my mouth to continue, when a voice interrupted me.

“Tell me, which High Lord do you prefer between your legs?”

Keir.

Fucking _Keir_.

I truly didn’t know why Rhys hadn’t killed him yet. A new Steward of the Hewn City would be the first move toward reforming the Night Court’s baser underbelly, and a more… pliant figure would save all of us, especially Mor, a world of trouble. Although if he had wormed his way into this meeting, it didn’t seem that he was going anywhere anytime soon. Perhaps the war would change that.

In fact, he might not live to fight in the war, for it was a toss-up to see who in the chamber would leap to rip out his throat first. Rhys’s eyes had shot to me the instant Keir had spoken, likely to prevent himself from doing just that. But between the murderous looks cast by the rest of my family and the loathing that consumed Celis, Lucien, Tamlin, even Ianthe, it would take a miracle for Keir to emerge from this meeting alive. Or at least in one piece.

But as fury roiled inside me, I kept my face composed, casual. My head cocked to the side, and I didn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing anything other than poise in my tone.

“Let us not forget, Keir, what happened last time you insulted me.”

He had the sense to look nervous at the reminder of our last encounter at the Court of Nightmares, when his arm had been broken in so many places that it went saggy. He blanched, and I watched the bob of his throat as he cast a glance to Rhys. I was sure my mate caught the glance, but he made no move to acknowledge it. Instead, he continued to stare at me, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Crueler smiles came from the rest of the Night Court party as Mor, Cassian, and Azriel delighted in Keir’s abasement, hyenas cackling at their wounded prey. Their laughs, combined with Keir’s dread, were enough to temper the rest of the room’s confusion – no one asked for clarification, and we offered none. But questions, appraisal – amusement? – sparkled in everyone’s eyes.

Oh, how I longed to wipe those smug expressions from their faces. I was the most powerful person in the room – High Lady of not one, but _two_ courts. I didn’t have to bow to a single one of them, yet they treated me like the night’s entertainment. But what was I going to do – _force_ them to respect me? No, bludgeoning them with my title would only amuse them further. I’d be forever labelled the female who fucked her way into power.

I flattened my palms on the table and stood. I looked each High Lord, each lover, each mate, each heir, each general, each scholar in the eye. My words were intense with the fury that burned within me, held inside for so long.

“Who I sleep with–” I met the eyes of the Summer, Autumn, and Winter Courts “–is none–” I addressed my family “–of any–” I spoke to Day, Dawn, and Spring “–of your gods-damned business.

“I am the Lieutenant General of the Spring Court Military, the largest force provided by any of Prythian’s courts. I sit at the right hand of the High Lord of Spring. I have been preparing for this war with Hybern since before most of you knew there _was_ a war.

“I killed the Attor, I bested the Weaver, I’ve looked into the eyes of the Bone Carver.

“As a _human_ , I slew the Middengard Wyrm. I captured and befriended a Suriel. I defeated Amarantha, a feat that, for all your titles and magic, none of you _High Lords_ could manage. I _saved_ you. I _died_ for you, even though you barely showed me a hint of kindness. And if you can’t manage to grant me the basest level of respect, maybe you weren’t worth saving after all.”

The room was silent. The words had poured from me too fast for me to analyze whether they would contradict the public story of my time at the Night Court. But it didn’t seem that any of the other courts knew me well enough to suspect any deceit. Although Lucien gave me a strange look…

A problem for another time, as Beron’s features contorted into a sneer.

“If you, human filth, think that–”

“My name is Feyre. If that is too difficult to manage, you may call me Lieutenant General.” My tone was fire and ice, both at the same time. I molded the power Rhys had given me into a talon, feminine and slender, and I drew it along Beron’s mental shields as I gave his mind a _push_. I didn’t break through, but I shoved hard enough to demonstrate that I could. Hard enough to show him the mistake he made in challenging me.

Hard enough for his eyes to widen as he realized where a missing kernel of his power had gone.

Before he could fling accusations and insults at me, my grip on his mind loosened. At the de facto head of the table, commanding the attention of the room, I tipped my head back and unleashed my power.

All of it.

Claws protruded from between my knuckles with Tamlin’s power, slicing open skin that healed instantly with Thesan’s magic running through me. Aquatic animals made of Tarquin’s water danced above my head. I held Beron’s fire in one hand and Kallias’s ice in the other. My body radiated with Helion’s light, and a backdrop of Rhys’s night swirled behind me.

“That was how you got through my wards,” Tarquin murmured when I at last reigned in my magic.

Beron was shaking so hard with rage he looked like he might spew fire.

But Helion rubbed his jaw as he examined me. “I wondered where it went – that little bit. So small – like a fish missing a single scale. But I still felt whenever something brushed against that empty spot.” A smirk at Tamlin. “No wonder you wanted her back so badly.”

“I wanted her back,” he said with a calm smugness that infuriated me, “Because I love her.”

Helion turned to Rhys. My mate had one ankle slung over a knee, the mask of bored impatience back in place. “You knew of her powers?” he asked Rhys.

“It was none of your business,” was all he replied. The words were for Helion, but the sentiment was for all the High Lords.

“The power belongs to _us_. I think it is,” Beron seethed. Mor leveled a look at Beron that would have sent lesser males running, but he continued as he rose. “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

He and his sons turned their backs on us and headed for the door. No one spoke. No one moved to stop them.

I alone remained on my feet. Beron was about to walk out the door, abandoning us to face Hybern alone. He could not be allowed to leave, not like this.

I said quietly, but not weakly, “I will use these powers – _my_ powers – to smash Hybern to bits. I will burn them, and drown them, and freeze them. I will use these powers to heal the injured. To shatter through Hybern’s wards. I have done so already, and I will do so again. A single drop in the cavernous wells of your power is not too high a price to pay.”

Beron’s back was still to me, but it stiffened at my words. He cast a scrutinizing eye across me, across all the assembled courts.

But before he could say anything, a chair scraped against the floor, and Viviane stood. She nodded, chin high. “I will fight with you.”

Cresseida stood a heartbeat later. “As will I.”

Both of them looked to the males in their courts.

Tarquin and Kallias rose.

Tamlin stood on silent feet, no declaration needed. We were shoulder-to-shoulder, High Lord and High Lady, side by side.

Then Helion, smirking between me and Tamlin and Rhys.

Beron surveyed the seven of us, just a smidge less disgust on his face. At his side, Eris was looking hard at Rhys, Mor, and Keir. Only the latter deigned to return his gaze.

“I shall consider it.” And then they vanished.

All was quiet.

Thesan and Rhys were still seated. Our host, and my mate, who had called this meeting. I didn’t doubt that they would ultimately join the alliance, but they obviously needed something more.

The High Lord of Dawn turned to his lover at his side. Instantly, I chided myself for the label. Just as I deserved to be known for more than my choice of bedfellow, so did he. The Captain of the Peregryns, then.

The two conversed for a few moments, and rather than begrudging them their hesitation, I found myself admiring them for it. None of the other High Lords had the courtesy to consult their delegations – their advisors and war leaders – before deciding to risk every life in their courts.

I released a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding as Thesan finished his conversation and stood.

The Night Court alone remained seated. 

_What are you waiting for?_ I screamed at Rhys.

His violet eyes twinkled, and I heard him laugh in my head. 

But the other High Lords saw nothing but the two of us locked in a battle of wills as we held each other’s gaze. With him at one end of the table and I at the other, we couldn’t have been farther from one another, and yet, a straight line could have been drawn between us and our connection would cleave the room cleanly in two. And still Rhys waited, his eyes growing more intent with each passing second, far past the point of propriety.

“Anything for you, Feyre darling,” he purred. And finally, he too stood.

 _Six out of seven_ , Rhys chuckled down the bond. _Not bad, Lieutenant General. Not bad at all._


	29. Chapter 29

Our alliance did not begin well.

Even though we talked for a good two hours afterward… the bickering, the back-and-forth continued. The tension between Tamlin and Rhys remained, and there was only so much I could do to play the peacemaker between the two of them.

As the afternoon slipped into evening, Thesan pushed back his chair. “You are all welcome to stay the night and resume this discussion in the morning – unless you with to return to your own homes for the evening.”

 _We’re staying_ , Rhys told me immediately. _And I would… appreciate if you would as well._

Indeed, the others seemed to have similar thoughts, for all decided to stay. It didn’t take much to convince Tamlin – once he saw Rhys was staying, he wouldn’t concede even that smallest advantage.

We were led to a suite built around a lavish sitting area and private dining room. All of it carved from that sunstone, bedecked in jewel-toned fabrics, broad cushions clumped along the thick carpets, and overlooked by ornate golden cages filled with birds of all shapes and sizes. I’d spied peacocks parading about the countless courtyards and gardens as we’d walked through Thesan’s home, some preening in the shade beneath potted fig trees.

Dinner was a quiet affair. The Dawn Court forbade hunting and fishing, preferring all-vegetarian diets – likely from their affinity toward healing and restoration. Attendants brought steaming platters to our room: roasted roots dotted with goat’s cheese, wilted greens in a tangy-sweet sauce, domed loaves of bread still smelling of yeast, and enough wine to satisfy even the most shameless drunkards.

We ate in silence, exhausted from the strain of the meeting. Even Ianthe couldn’t bring herself to make smug comments on the day’s success.

And what a success it was. I hadn’t dared to hope that Rhys and I would unite any, let alone six of Prythian’s courts. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe our alliance was the only hurdle we would face in this war – maintaining it would be just as challenging – but this first step gave us a strong foothold against Hybern.

When the sky had dimmed to a deep magenta – somehow, I knew night in the Dawn Court would never wholly cloak the brilliant clouds – we retreated to our rooms. When Tamlin’s back was turned, I stirred an herb Elain had once given me to sleep into his wine. When the herb had done its work and he was fast asleep, I slipped from the room and climbed out the balcony. 

The sunstone was rougher than it appeared, and the ascent to the Night Court rooms was straightforward once I located the familiar consciousnesses in the apartments a few levels above. I had changed into leggings and a cropped shirt with loose, flowing sleeves, which further facilitated my climb. I spared not one glance toward the ground far, far below.

My fingers were raw by the time I reached the correct balcony, yellow candlelight streaming through the gauzy curtains. I hoisted myself over the railing and dropped to my feet silently.

A full, throaty laugh sounded from within.

Mor.

She lounged on a couch, back propped with jewel-toned pillows and feet propped on… the High Lord of Day, of all people. What in the Cauldron’s name was _Helion_ here for? He’d spent the entire meeting belittling me and goading Rhys. And yet, I saw no sign of that arrogant male in the one who had elicited such laughter from my friend.

Keir was nowhere to be seen – likely exiled to his room or sent home after his outburst during the meeting. Azriel and Cassian were settled into plush chairs across from the sofa, designed to accommodate wings.

I took a deep breath, released the illusion on my right arm, and stepped inside.

“What does a High Lady have to do to get a drink around here?”

Mor practically leapt from the couch in an attempt to suffocate me in a hug as quickly as possible. I returned her embrace with just as much enthusiasm, even as I inhaled golden curls.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be maintaining appearances?”

I caught the bite to her words – so subtle that I doubted she noticed it herself – but the elation at reuniting with my family was so great I couldn’t be bothered to care. “And miss out on the chance to see you? I think not.”

She finally released me as Cassian approached.

“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you healed,” I whispered in his ear, wrapping him in a hug. The last time we’d been together, his blood had stained the pristine marble of Hybern’s castle, wings shredded by magic the King of Hybern had harnessed from the Cauldron.

“Please,” he scoffed, “You should have seen the other guy.”

“I _did_.” Hybern had gotten away without a scratch. But the glare I tried to fix on him couldn’t hold, and a smile worked its way back onto my face.

Azriel was behind me, an impossibly-thin glass of some clear liquid in his hand. “As requested,” he said with a wink.

“This is why you’re my favorite.” The alcohol barely burned my throat, crisp yet lightly aromatic – a near-perfect reflection of the Dawn Court’s temperament – before I hugged him. I pressed a kiss to his cheek as I released him and settled into a velvet chair.

“How come I don’t get a kiss?” Cassian, faux-indignant.

“You didn’t bring me alcohol.” I stuck my tongue out at him, and Mor cackled.

Helion had watched our reunion patiently, and I had watched him. He did a commendable job at reining in his surprise, and I couldn’t catch him off-guard when I turned to him and said casually, “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

His tone matched mine for nonchalance, and his reply was smooth. “Apologies for the bastard act this afternoon. Old habits and all.”

If he waited for my forgiveness, Helion covered the pause effortlessly when he recognized my refusal to grant it. Embers of anger still brooded within me at the utter disregard the High Lords had shown me at the meeting. It would take more than offhand excuses to tame them.

“Our courts have enjoyed a close friendship for many centuries,” he continued. “I look forward to many more with you, High Lady.”

He was wheedling for an explanation – shrewdly, diplomatically, but still wheedling – and I didn’t feel inclined to give him one. Instead, I helped myself to another shot of that aromatic liquor, a practiced smile aimed at him. “Now that you know my secret, I trust you will let it remain a secret.”

A consciousness appeared on the balcony behind me.

“He will.”

Rhys, arms crossed as he leaned casually against an ornate gold-paneled wall. His raven hair was mussed, and his wings – those that Tamlin sought so fiercely to betray – were out in all their glory. The coat he’d worn at the meeting was gone, a pressed black shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest clinging to his body.

I ran to him.


	30. Chapter 30

We said not a word of farewell to our friends as Rhys carried me, my legs entwined around his waist, to his bedroom.

He was here. And I was here, holding him, touching him, kissing him. Inhaling his citrus-and-sea scent like a drug. Clinging so tightly I wondered if his skin would be bruised in the morning.

He sat at the foot of the bed, and my hands explored his face. They moved of their own accord, tilting his chin upward to meet my lips, running a thumb across the scar Tamlin had given him, cupping his head in my hands and twining my fingers through his hair.

My tongue found his. His hands creeped underneath my shirt to run up and down my back. At his touch, I moaned against his lips. He pressed himself further to me, and I felt the hardness of him brush against the wetness of me.

I tipped my head back to gasp for air. My exposed neck he ravished, trailing from my jawline to the hollow of my throat. When he reached the base of my neck, the soft space where neck met shoulder, he paused. Before I understood, I felt teeth pierce my skin, claiming me for himself and himself alone. I was his, and he was mine.

I brushed onyx hair back from his forehead, and my hand came away sticky with sweat.

Suddenly the heat from the room was unbearable.

Time slowed as I held violet eyes with my clear blue ones. His stare penetrated me, seeing me, body and soul, like he was afraid I would disappear if he dared so much as blink. Without breaking his gaze, I reached toward the buttons of his shirt.

Each second was agonizing – I felt it, and the wildness that flared behind his eyes told me he felt it as well – but my hands maintained their languorous pace until there was nothing between hands and tattooed chest.

His hands travelled up my waist and eased my shirt from one shoulder, leaving pale skin exposed beneath his touch. He pressed a kiss to my collarbone, and my skin ignited while his kiss moved to my shoulder, then down my arm as he tugged off my shirt.

Whether from my doing or his, the rest of our clothes vanished in an instant. I fought to breathe the heavy air, laden with sweat from both our bodies, and I rested my forehead against his to steady myself. His breath rasped in my ear, struggling for air just as hard as my own. It was a sound I could listen to for hours, days.

My mind lengthened as I reached down the bridge toward the adamant fortress of his mind. I placed a hand along the fortress wall just as he placed his own along mine. It sent sparks throughout my entire being, and my spirit accelerated into his.

Our minds intertwined. The force of the impact threatened to toss us from the bridge into the great abyss of oblivion, but we steadied ourselves, coiling around one another like a helix, writhing along the length of the bridge, wrestling for _more_ of each other.

Rhys’s hand between my legs jarred me from the reverie of our bond, and my body arched into his touch of its own accord. A deep, shuddering laugh escaped me.

I threaded my fingers through his hair and forced his head back with a sharp yank, stilling his hand. He knew what my body wanted. But that wasn’t what _I_ wanted.

I needed him, but I needed control more.

In the conjoined state of our minds, I didn’t so much as _say_ the words but rather _envisioned_ them.

_Not. Yet._

I forced him back onto the bed, splayed out before me. My mate – my beautiful, selfless mate – understood what I needed. He followed my lead, acquiescing to my touch, surrendering to my desire. Submitting to my control.

I met him on the bed. And then, I worshipped his body with mine.

I kissed every inch of him. I traced every tattoo, following where they swirled across golden skin that tasted of salt and stars. I massaged his wings until his entire body shook with pleasure, and I covered his mouth with mine as if I could inhale his gasps.

As he had, I pressed kisses to his neck, tracing a line to where neck and shoulder met. My teeth marked him, and I claimed him as my own. Mine, and mine alone.

And when it was time for us to join fully, I knelt atop him, placing my hands on the taut muscles of his chest to brace myself as I found release over and over.

I was a ship, and he was the sea, and I rode the waves of his body.

♦♦♦

As I lay with him after, he snaked his arms around me and pulled me to him, wrapping my body with his like a blanket. We lay there, no words, no movement, nothing to distract from the feel of our bodies pressed together. Holding each other like I had longed to for weeks. His skin smooth on mine, the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen caressing my back. His constant heart an echo of my own. This close, I could feel each beat as if it were mine, as if that heart kept both of us alive.

I closed my eyes, lulled by the rhythm. It entranced me, soothed me. In a way, it did keep us both alive, because I knew that the moment that heart stopped, my own would as well. I didn’t want to live in a world without him.

His heart sang to me. The melody accelerated with the rise of his chest, slowed with its fall, punctuated by the thin whistle of air that passed through his lips. He was an orchestra, and the symphony of his body was the most beautiful sound that had ever touched my ears.

Hot breath tickled my neck as his head nestled behind mine. The hand he lifted to tuck back an errant lock of golden-brown hair was a solo that rang out over the melody. Callused fingers traced the line of my ear, sending chills to rattle down my spine.

But the symphony collapsed as his fingers stalled just behind my ear. His breathing no longer even, his heart no longer a lullaby.

“What’s this?” With his lips so close, the words were barely more than a rumble in his chest.

It took me a moment to remember. “The tattoo? It appeared the day you came to the manor, when we…”

He pulled back, and the sudden cold pricked on my bare skin. I craned my neck to face him. Disgust was written across his face. “That’s how we mark prisoners, enemies. Is that…” he paused, the words stuck in his throat, “Is that how you think of me?”

That’s where I’d seen the tattoo before – I knew the figure had struck a memory. The faerie head skewered to a fountain in Tamlin’s garden had borne the same brand. But Rhys’s accusation had me at a loss for words. Nothing could have been further from the truth. He had saved me, cared for me when no one else had. He was my _mate_. He was the furthest thing from my captor.

My bewilderment was mistaken for hesitation, and he drew back farther.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

My brows furrowed in disbelief. “Nothing!” An automatic denial. “I…”

And then I remembered. The secret I hadn’t meant to hide from him, not exactly, but I had worried about sharing with him, ever since the Suriel’s warnings.

I sat up on the bed and extended my arms in front of me, palms to the air as if in supplication. I closed my eyes, not to summon my magic, but to steady myself. To brace myself for his reaction.

When I opened my eyes, the glamour was gone. My true skin was bared before him. One arm encircled with whorls of shadow and the other swirled with iridescent vines.

He hissed and backed away. “What have you done?”

“Done? I…” I didn’t know what to say, I couldn’t find words.

“Is that why you fucked Tamlin?”

“It wasn’t like that,” I protested.

“Enlighten me, then.”

I fumbled for the right words, the ones that would explain, make him see what had happened that night, how I’d had no choice but to yield to him if I had wanted to continue my work within the Spring Court. The words that would heal the rift between us that ripped wider with every second of my incompetent silence.

He rose to his feet as I stammered feeble excuses. Even to my ears, they seemed weak, and he cut me off as lines of disgust deepened on his face.

“I am your _mate_. How far are you planning to go, Feyre? What are you prepared to do to satisfy your schemes? I begin to wonder how far the lies go – which one of us is the true subject of your deception.”

“I would _never_ –”

“Not a word,” he breathed. “I’ve heard not a word from you in weeks. Is it so difficult to send a message? Or is so easy to forget about me now that you have a new court to fawn over you?”

“I’ll be home soon, I promise.”

“Soon? When is soon? In another month? Three?”

“Just a little while longer,” I pleaded. My tone was desperate as I tripped over my words, falling so fast from my lips as I hastened to explain. “I didn’t want my titles to jeopardize this meeting. I–”

“Oh, you certainly fooled the High Lords into thinking you’re Tamlin’s pet once again. I saw how he dressed you up today, like some sort of model soldier when you’re nothing but a lapdog.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He pressed further, ignoring me. “I caught how his diamond glittered on your finger, and how he enjoyed the way it distracted the other High Lords. How he found every excuse to touch you just to get a rise out of me, just to show me which one of us has won.”

I sprang to my feet.

“I am not a trinket to be dangled about as a prize for you and Tamlin to fight for. My actions, my decisions, my body, my affections are _mine_ , and I will do with them what I see fit. Mate or not, you have no right to any of them.”

“You should have been sitting at _my_ side today, yet you chose him.”

“You do not own me. I do not _belong_ to you.”

It was my turn to look disgusted with him. We faced each other, the length of the bed a barrier between us. The air was thick with heightened emotions, fury radiating heat from our skins to warm the room far past the point of comfort. He was too enraged to look remorseful at my words, and I must have looked the same to him.

“You can’t marry him, Feyre! You already have a husband – _I_ am your husband!”

“I have no intention of marrying him, and if you think I do, you’re just as stupid as he is.”

“You could have fooled me.” His tone was ice, each word a shard designed to tear into the deepest parts of me. “At this point, you might as well, given how wide you’ve spread your legs for him.”

“I thought you of all people would understand what it’s like to fuck someone you don’t want to.”

The words slipped from my lips before I could reel them in.

His wings flared behind him, and he advanced toward me.

 _Death on swift wings_ , I’d once titled this painting, when Rhys and I had spent a night in a tiny attic room of an inn deep in the Illyrian mountains. Shadows and menace and wings. But then, the figure in the sketch hadn’t been delivering his promise of a most certain and most imminent death to me.

As it did now.

Rhys had been right when he said I’d never been truly afraid of him. _Nervous, but never afraid,_ he’d whispered that night. _I’ve felt the genuine terror of enough people to know the difference._

I couldn’t keep the words from echoing in my head as, in a single heartbeat, he was proven wrong. I stared him down, but I could do nothing to halt the terror, fueled by some instinct deep within me, that rose in my chest upon seeing the shadows and menace and wings. No longer was I one of the only people who’d never balked at Rhysand’s power as each terrifying step brought him closer to me.

Talons clawed at my mind like nails on a blackboard. It was all I could to do keep my mental shields intact as the weight of his power shoved against them. The invisible claws tightened, and my head began to throb with the pressure building inside it. A hair further, and all sense of who I am would cease to exist. Two, and I would be dead.

Not completely of my own will, I inched backward toward the door. The logical, reasonable voice in my head that told me Rhys would never hurt me was drowned out by primal fear. The fear a deer must feel in the face of a hunter. He was a predator, and I was his prey.

I stumbled, fell to the floor, and he was upon me in an instant. The hooked talons at his wingtips gleamed. There was no twinkle to his violet eyes. Moonlight stained his teeth, outlining each pointed edge. The pressure in my head reached a crescendo.

The door was flung open, and steady hands gripped me. A cloak was thrown across my shoulders to cover my bare skin, forgotten amid the heat of our emotions.

Oh gods. Two figures in Illyrian fighting leathers surrounded me. All I could see were wings and tattoos towering over me. I thrashed against those hands, so strong, so firm, but I couldn’t get free, I couldn’t escape.

From somewhere far outside my body, voices called to me, called my name.

Cassian and Azriel.

It was Cassian and Azriel. Friends. Family.

They were kneeling beside me, human shields against Rhys’s wrath. Their bodies blessedly blocked him from my view, but I heard a feminine voice a few feet away. Mor, steering Rhys from his wild rage.

The talons on my mind stilled but didn’t release me. The pressure inside my head became a numb echo, a thrumming headache mirroring the pounding of my heart. I couldn’t make out her words over the vast echo other than to hear a faint hum, soothing yet firm. The same tone Cassian and Azriel were using with me. Their words were drowned out as the echo resounded through my head.

There was nothing but the echo. It was my life. My thoughts. My body. My being.

It was me, as Rhys held me in the palm of his hand.

I couldn’t think past that echo, screaming into the void where thoughts had once lived. I could barely remember to breathe, let alone respond to my friends’ questions. I couldn’t shut my eyes, because his dark form stalking toward me was burned on the back of my eyelids, and I couldn’t keep them open for fear that the body blocking my view would shift and I would see him.

I didn’t dare move, as if even that would drive the nails into my mind.

I was screaming.

Mor was screaming.

The world was screaming.

And then, wings snapped, and the talons were gone.

He was gone.

Rhys was gone.

My screams turned to sobs as I covered my head with my arms and cowered on the floor.

♦♦♦

I don’t know how long I sat there crying. It felt like days; it felt like seconds. Cassian and Azriel didn’t leave my side, though Mor disappeared as soon as Rhys did. They spoke not a word, allowing me my sorrow for most of the night, despite their own needs for sleep. They stayed with me in silence, no pushing me to move, no urging me to dry my tears. My guardians, my friends, my family.

Only when dawn began to emerge did Mor return.

“She has to go back.” The words sounded apathetic to my nervous ears.

Azriel stood and went to reason with her. “We should take her home,” he murmured, almost too soft for me to catch.

But Mor was emphatic. “The alliance will be ruined if she disappears in the middle of the night. If Tamlin finds her gone, you know we’ll be the first to blame.”

“She needs to be somewhere neutral, somewhere safe.”

“At the moment, safe is as far from Rhys as she can get.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. A minute later, I was in Azriel’s arms as he carried me back up to the Spring Court rooms. Somewhere distant, another Feyre recognized how dangerous this was – if he was seen by Tamlin or Lucien or Ianthe… But she was too far away for her qualms to reach me, and even for her, it was preposterous to suggest that I make my way back on my own. I was too broken, too shattered.

Knowing Azriel, we would have been like shadows arriving on the balcony, his feet sparing not a sound as he landed. A light breeze lifted the ethereal curtains, and they cast toward the sun’s rays reaching for the cloud cover beneath us. It was a view to stir the heart of even the harshest cynic.

But I wasn’t a cynic. I wasn’t anything.

He set me down gently, making sure my feet were steady before leaving me to stand on my own. His arms were still around my shoulders, and he was leaning down to whisper final words of comfort to me when a figure approached on the other side of the curtains.

Celis.

Azriel went still. His hands tightened just slightly on me, ready to whisk me away in an instant. But the Falconer General made no move to betray us, and no shock registered in her golden eyes as they scanned the two of us.

“I can take her from here,” was all she said.

And I was handed over to the Spring Court.


	31. Interlude

My mind is a fog.

The world around me is blurred. Colors have lost their luster. Flowers that once held pure sweetness have been tainted. Now they smell like nothing at all.

Each step I take, it seems as if I’m controlling someone else’s body. Each time I lay down to sleep, someone else rests while I stare at the ceiling, waiting for the next day. Each morning, I find angry red marks on my arms, like someone else wants to scratch off these tattoos that swirl across me, marking me as belonging not wholly to myself.

But the anger is someone else’s, not mine. I can’t feel the emotion, nor the scratches that should sting.

I don’t feel much of anything.


	32. Chapter 32

Celis took care of me. She drew me bath in a porcelain tub I would have called magnificent had I been able to think of the word. Gently, ever so gently, she sponged warm water over me. She washed my hair, my arms, my legs. The tattoo on my left arm, and on my right.

If she was surprised to find my Night Court tattoo, she made no mention of it. As with everything else, she took it in stride. Though the sponge stilled for just a moment over the whorls of black ink and the cat’s eye in the middle of my palm.

Vaguely, from somewhere far away, I remembered that I should conceal the tattoo. But I couldn’t remember how. The haze that clouded my mind seemed to cloud my magic, too. I couldn’t find the strength to try to reach for it.

Celis did her best not to let her fingers touch me, even as she searched my body for bruises.

When she had finished, she retreated to her apartments.

I didn’t move. I wasn’t sure if I could.

I sat in the bath, and the water slowly went cold. 

♦♦♦

Had I asked, they would have taken me back to the training grounds. As it was, Tam didn’t want me at the meeting, and Ianthe would have been more than happy to claim a higher status within our delegation due to my absence.

But the consciousness at the other end of the bond in my head remained far away, and it seemed the easier option to continue forth with the deliberations. And though emotions failed me, logic remained. I knew how it would look if neither of us attended today’s meeting.

I donned my Military uniform, delivered by an officer last night. Today, there was no need for me to make an impression.

The meeting was short compared to yesterday’s drawn-out affair. Or maybe it was similarly tedious, but I wouldn’t have been able to say. My mind couldn’t seem to focus on the discussion, hearing words but unable to interpret their meaning.

Some part of me noted Keir’s absence, as well. The Night Court delegates only numbered three. I want to believe Mor did an admirable job fielding the conversation, but I was in no state to assess her performance. I could barely meet her eyes. Or Cassian’s. Or Azriel’s. The coral fish in the reflection pool seemed much easier to concentrate on.

Tamlin’s hand covered mine, interrupting my study of the fish. I blinked once, twice, to try to focus my attention on him, yet the haze remained.

“Forgive me,” I heard myself say. “What’s the issue?”

Tamlin answered, though I didn’t think the question had been from him. “The human lands. Can your sisters spread the message of war to the humans and the human queens?”

My sisters. I hadn’t thought of them for quite some time. I wondered if Elain had been married yet. I wondered if Nesta had been successful in holding off the wedding. I wondered…

The chamber was silent, and I realized I still hadn’t answered the question.

“Sending word has no purpose. With the Spring Court’s wards strengthening the wall and the humans below the wall already spending their days whittling ash arrows, there is nothing much else to be done. As for the human queens…” an image of the golden-haired queen, skewered on a lamppost in Velaris rose in my mind, “They want nothing to do with this conflict. I would prefer to leave them to their spite.”

A brief pause, as if the High Lords didn’t know what to say. Then, Kallias said, “Are you sure they understand the gravity of the situation? Perhaps if you reached out again, if you told them of the Blood Moon and our alliance, they might be more inclined to listen.”

“They understand,” was all I said.

Another pause, awkward this time, and this time I was certain the High Lords stumbled for what to say.

No one addressed me after that.

I went back to watching the fish.


	33. Chapter 33

We returned to the manor as the Dawn Court clouds turned magenta. I don’t quite remember how we got back. One moment, my feet stood on sunstone, and the next, they were on freshly shorn grass. Here, only cloud-stained moonlight fell on the garden. The lush shrubs and flowers that spilled from the earth pricked up at our arrival, deepening in hue and reaching toward the moonlight, as if they had lost their usual vitality in the absence of their High Lord and Lady.

A hand was extended toward me, leading into the manor. Tamlin’s.

Following him seemed the easiest option. I’d grown to appreciate the path of least resistance, as if I were a drop of water flowing in a vast stream. Not a High Lady, nor a High Lord’s consort. Just a single drop swallowed by a wave of others.

I moved to take his hand, but my arm felt heavy. I looked down at it.

Celis still grasped my wrist. She must have winnowed me back to the Spring Court. The thought crossed my mind to thank her for it, but it disappeared when I opened my mouth. Gone, as if it had never existed.

“I can take you back to the training grounds, if you’d like,” she whispered to me.

A choice. Tamlin or the camp.

I didn’t want to spend the night with Tamlin, didn’t want to spend the night with any male, not after…

But I thought of the fires and the chattering and the faeries with whom I’d promised to share stories of the meeting, and weariness struck me. I couldn’t see them and their smiles and bright eyes, eager for news and gossip. Not tonight. Not like this.

“I’m fine here,” I told Celis.

I began to shake my hand from her grasp, but her fingers tightened on me.

“Are you sure?” Her voice was softer still. Soft, and gentle, like the tone Tamlin liked to use with me when he wanted to pretend I was nothing more than a doll to be dressed in fine clothes and jewels.

“Let _go_ of me,” I said and yanked my arm free. There was heat in my words, stronger than I felt within. Celis released me immediately. She looked at me, and her golden falcon’s eyes were wide.

It wasn’t until later that I realized what she must have thought had happened between me and Rhysand.

I let Tam take my hand and walk me into the manor. The heavy oak doors shut behind us with a faint boom. At the sound, something stirred within me. It sounded like a cage locking me in, cutting me off from the outside world once and for all.

He led me upstairs. When we reached my room, he stopped. I knew he was staring at me, but I couldn’t meet his eyes. I didn’t want to, because I knew what I would see.

Lust.

I had sworn to myself I would never let him touch me again. No matter what happened, I would never betray my mate again.

But he had betrayed me. He had tried to kill me. And for all of Tamlin’s mistakes, he had never wanted me dead. No, all his mistakes had centered on trying to protect me. He had hurt me, yes, but he’d never meant to.

I did meet his eyes, then. But the lust I had thought to find was instead concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You’ve seemed… distant since yesterday.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

“It must have been difficult, seeing them.”

I knew who he meant. And though I appreciated the worry in those sad green eyes, I didn’t want to discuss the Night Court with Tamlin.

I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted to be safe.

His eyes scanned me, searching for any hint of what I might be feeling. He’d be searching for a while. I didn’t have any feelings, not anymore.

But his eyes caught on the area where my neck met my shoulder and the exposed skin, normally concealed by my uniform jacket. And the two marks, faded to scars thanks to Thesan’s healing magic, where last night Rhysand had marked me as his mate.

It took Tam a few moments to understand what the scars meant, where they had come from. Who had given them to me.

“Did he… did he _bite_ you?” The words were ice and fire at the same time.

Unconsciously, I raised a hand to cover it. “It’s nothing.”

He took my hand in his. His grip was crushing, and he dug into my skin as the first glimmers of talons emerged from his nails. “It is not nothing. Do you know what this means?” In his anger, his words shook.

Tamlin didn’t wait for my answer. “It means you are his mate. It means you belong to him. It means he will never let you go.”

Tears welled in my eyes, and when I blinked, they fell down my cheeks.

And then, the rage disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. His eyes held nothing but sorrow as they met mine. “I am so sorry. He had no right – no right to any of it.” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder for you. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you when you needed it most.”

He drew me toward him, and I found myself wrapping my arms around his shoulders, my head against his chest. Tears soaked his tunic, but he didn’t seem to notice. Tam held me close, stroked my hair, and whispered, “I’m sorry,” over and over until I could cry no more.

Later, when the tears stopped, I found I could hear his heart beating, strong and constant.

When we’d first met, that heart had been made of stone. I’d thrust a knife into it to break Amarantha’s curse. Since his heartbeat had returned, I’d never gotten the chance to appreciate it. There was a beauty to the simplicity of its rhythm. It lulled me, comforted me.

My eyelids closed, and I did not fight sleep as it took me.

♦♦♦

It was still dark when I awoke, only a few rays of daylight shining into my room.

My room.

I was in my room, in my bed. And asleep beside me was Tamlin.

Tamlin, who had always loved me. Tamlin, who had always been there for me. Tamlin, who had never given up on me, even after I had long since given up on him.

I didn’t love him. I knew that.

I could never love him, never love anyone the way I loved Rhysand. Love almost seemed the wrong word for what I felt for him, as if it wasn’t powerful enough to describe my emotions. It was like…

I suppose it didn’t matter now. He was gone. I had hurt him with my deception and my lies, and he had lashed out at me. And then he left me.

He didn’t want me anymore. I didn’t blame him.

For my part, I wasn’t sure I could be with him again, even if he did forgive me. The image of wings and shadows and menace towering over me flashed through my mind, as it had on-and-off for the past day. It turned my blood cold, and I inched closer to Tam, until the warmth from his body radiated into mine.

This was it. This would be my life, just as the Suriel had shown me. This is what I had to look forward to for the rest of eternity: guilt and a loveless marriage and exile from the family I had found.

The diamond ring weighed on my hand, and I clutched it to my chest. I curled on my side and turned inward on myself. I cried.

I cried for my mate. I cried for the wall between us, the stain that would always tarnish our history. I cried for what I had done and for what I had failed to do. I cried just to remember what he had done to me in those last moments.

I cried for Mor and Amren and Cassian and Azriel, that I would never spend another night curled up next to the fireplace, chatting and laughing until wine spewed from my nose.

I cried for the Suriel’s words and for my foolishness. It had been right. I had overstepped. I had betrayed the Night Court in favor of the Spring. I did not deserve to be happy.

I cried for myself. For all my lies, and for all that I had lost. What I had gained in its place had not been worth it. I cried for that thought, a thought I could never admit to any within the Spring Court. But it was true. If I could, I would trade all I had built for myself in the Spring Court in a heartbeat, just to reunite with my family. I was selfish. I was a monster. I cried for that, too.

Beside me, Tamlin continued to sleep.

I cried for him. I cried that I would never escape him, that I would become his wife and spend the rest of my eternity at his side.

But when I came to the thought of my duty, I did not cry. The Spring Court would become my prison, but I would find a way to change it to something else. I had lost my mate, but I had made a promise to myself not to let myself be crushed by a male. My soul remembered how to dream, and it dreamed of a modern court where faeries could be free to live side-by-side regardless of their appearance. My responsibility remained here, to this court, to these faeries. I could not abandon them – I would not abandon them the way I had abandoned the Night Court. I had made that mistake once, and I would not make it again. This time, I would do better.

I threw the blankets aside and rose from my bed, leaving Tam fast asleep. The time for crying was over. I was broken, but I would heal.

There was work to be done.

♦♦♦

A letter was waiting for me in the foyer. My name had been written across the envelope in a delicate scrawl that sent flashes of dark wings towering over me through my mind.

It was from Rhysand.

Without thought, magic leapt to my fingertips. The letter was incinerated in a heartbeat, leaving nothing behind but ash.

I felt only relief that it was gone.


	34. Chapter 34

My figure wasn’t one to inspire fear, not like Rhysand’s. Nor did I wish it to be. But fear was a weapon, sharp as a sword, effective as an ash arrow. It had a place, and it had a purpose.

A purpose, such as corralling petulant children who sent others to war in their stead while they lounged in their lavish estates.

I would bring the High Fae to heel.

As the Cursebreaker, as a Lieutenant General, I could not have done it. Now, as their High Lady, whatever magic ruled within the Spring Court would compel them to heed my commands. But if they were even a fraction as cruel as the Court of Nightmares – and though I hoped otherwise, I prepared for the worst – then my weapon of choice would have to be fear, rather than smooth words and sweet smiles.

And from Rhysand, I had learned a thing or two about fear.

Lesson One: bring backup.

Rhysand was terrifying enough on his own, but I couldn’t forget the image of our arrival at the Court of Nightmares months ago. Mor and I had entered first, so that the Court had known to expect him. Then, Cassian and Azriel, armed to the teeth and wearing wicked smiles, arrived and announced Rhysand. When he finally did appear, the Court was primed to fear and obey.

I didn’t have Illyrians. Instead, I had the Generals. I had Lucien and Tamlin. I even had Ianthe, who was eager to flaunt her power in front of the High Fae.

My guards had insisted on coming as well, and for once I didn’t resent their presence. Their fighting prowess would add an edge to our party.

There were twelve of us in all. An auspicious number, according to Ianthe. We clasped hands and became the spring breeze as we winnowed to the High Fae estates.

When we reached the first estate, my stomach twisted. Meticulous, manicured gardens sprawled before us. Beds of petite flowers formed neat rows across the lawn, sculpted hedges dotted in between every so often. I was in no state to appreciate colors, but had I been, I would have marveled at them. Shades so vibrant they appeared unnatural, like a drug from an apothecary. Hues I had only ever seen in gems and stones, as if each flower was a jewel in itself. There were no brown spots, no dead flowerbuds or empty patches. The lawn was like a carpet, so soft I resented wearing shoes.

A path through the gardens extended before us. It stretched toward a mansion in the hollow of a shallow basin, the gardens feeding like streams toward it. This far away, it was no larger than my thumb. But as we approached, I truly believed I might vomit.

The mansion – if that was the right word for it; _castle_ might have suited it better – was massive. Many, many times larger than Tam’s manor. Fashioned from the palest marble, the mansion loomed above us as we approached. Turrets reached for the sky, and only a few were topped with the Spring Court insignia. The others held a banner of purple with an ivory creature baring its teeth. Some family sigil, I presumed. Balustrades wrapped around the sides, leaving corridors open to the air all along the outside of the mansion, and I could make out a few purple-and-ivory liveried servants hurrying along with baskets of laundry or buckets of water.

I was pleased to note the delegation that came to greet us as we neared the cascading stairs leading to the main entrance. I wasn’t sure exactly how much sway the High Court held over the High Fae – from the way Tam spoke of them, and from the extravagance of the mansion, I had been worried I might not be able to coerce them, even with my title.

The lord and lady of the mansion came to rest on the green just past the stairs, flanked by a few younger Fae. Their children. The delegation dressed as if for a party, the females decked in silks and beaded jewelry, the males in fine jackets and polished boots. I didn’t want to think about whether they dressed for us or if it was it their everyday attire.

Seeing their formal clothing, I was glad I remembered my lessons.

Lesson Two: dress for effect.

And, by the Cauldron, what an effect we had.

The Generals wore their dress uniforms, reserved only for formal rites. They had railed against me when I suggested they break them out for this occasion, and I nearly had to invoke my authority. But it was the right decision.

The dress uniform, unlike the ordinary one, was not made for fighting. The jacket was made of a stiffer material, cuffs extending past the wrist and adorned with ranking pins. Gold buttons carved with flowers and vines trailed along the front of the jacket, from the high collar all the way to the bottom. The shoulder pads stuck out further than on the ordinary uniform, and gold corded tassels hung off each shoulder. The black pants were somehow crisper than usual, and they didn’t tuck into matching boots but rather extended down to rest just above the grass. Instead of boots, dress shoes of supple black leather were laced tightly beneath the pants. White gloves were an ironic addition, as if that could erase all the blood that had stained their hands over the years. And all that would in the looming war.

The uniform wasn’t for battle, and the Generals carried no weapons, yet the absence seemed to carry greater weight. Because for the Generals, the most important figures in the Spring Court during this time of war, to travel without weapons spoke to how dangerous each of them was on their own. And even as I looked at them, I found myself thanking the gods they were on our side of the war.

Liv had sharpened her nails to points and absently drew red marks on the back of her wrist with them instead of fiddling with her knives as she usually did. Her head had been oiled, and the scars that crisscrossed it gleamed in the daylight.

Alistair’s uniform had been designed to accommodate his wings, and veins spiderwebbed across them to the edges, razor-sharp to deter any opponent from threatening them. His eyes, deep blue and solemn, appeared particularly piercing against the gold that shone on his uniform.

Celis had forgone her cloak. I could only imagine the anguish she must have felt to leave it behind. Without the cloak, she was exposed, with no way to hide from the Fae that had rejected and exiled her. But she didn’t need to hide. Without the cloak, I could see the way her jacket molded to her muscles, not an ounce of fat on her lean body. Her hair was loose, and it flowed in the wind, black and grey strands mingling together. Her golden eyes were hard, and I noticed how the High Fae flinched when her gaze swept over them.

Lucien wore his dress uniform as well, and it fit him like a glove. His hair, still short but beginning to grow out a bit, was slicked back so there was no disguising his metal eye and the puckered scar that crossed from brow to cheek. I was almost amused to note the tattoo that peeked out from behind his ear, all but concealed by his hair but for the slicked style he wore today. A mark of the bargain we had made just before the meeting with the High Lords. I hastily threw a glamour over it, lest suspicions be raised by its sudden appearance.

Tam and I wore clothes of the deepest green, so dark it nearly appeared black. His jacket matched my dress, patterned with iridescent vines that snaked along the arms and down the back. My dress clung to my body, a plunging vee leaving much of the pale skin of my chest exposed. Alis had woven my hair into intricate braids and brushed my face with dark eye paints that lent my face a severity it typically lacked, emphasizing the angles of my cheeks and jaw.

And above my head sat a crown forged of gold, a twin to Tamlin’s. Jewels the color of the flowers in the gardens behind us were encrusted along the band. It dug into my forehead, a constant reminder of my responsibility.

At the sight of it, the High Fae dropped to their knees.

“High Lord – and High Lady. Welcome to our home. It is an honor.” The male kept his eyes to the grass, but I felt his words directed to Tam. Never mind that this was my mission and I stood a half step in front of the rest of my party. Well, I’d just have to show him.

Tamlin too caught the lord’s intention, but he remained silent, as we had planned. I took another step forward.

“Rise,” I told them. “Thank you for your hospitality. We haven’t been formally introduced. My name is Feyre.”


	35. Chapter 35

They led us to a sitting room near the heart of the mansion. The walls were lacquered in patterned paper, an intricate design of pink and gold, and on them hung exquisite paintings. They must have been specially commissioned for the estate, for the landscapes matched the gardens outside.

Servants brought tea in dainty cups, so thin I worried I might break mine just by grasping it too firmly. Each one was painted as a study in one of the flowers I’d noticed in the garden. Our party sat across from theirs on ornate velvet couches, heavy armrests gilded in pure gold. A family portrait rested on the wall above their heads so that twin sets of gazes stared me down.

The lord, Douglass, watched while his wife poured the tea. First for us, then for their family. She kept her eyes to the floor.

“You may not have noticed me, High Lady, but I was present at your Solstice coronation. What a marvelous affair.” Douglass sipped his tea and turned to Ianthe. “You always perform such beautiful rituals, High Priestess. It’s a shame we haven’t been able to celebrate the holiday together for half a century.”

Even Ianthe stared at him. Did he truly invite us in just to insult Tam? But before any of us could recover from our shock, Douglass continued.

“Ah, well. I suppose we should thank the gods we’re together now. Tell me, High Lord, how goes the war effort? I apologize for the shabby appearance of our home; we’ve donated a great deal to support the legions.”

The Feyre I had been last week would have spit out her tea. But the ice that surrounded my heart was unfazed to hear the lord’s declaration, no matter how full of shit he was.

My companions gave him a flat look, and Tam took a long sip of his tea before responding. “You know perfectly well, Douglass, that the Generals oversee control of the war effort. They will provide a clearer picture than I can.”

“Of course, of course.” But as he turned to the Generals, he hesitated, unsure of which to address. A lesser faerie, or an outcast?

He settled on the outcast, and I was horrified that he preferred to face his guilt at what had been done to the Falconers rather than his disdain for a lesser faerie.

“General Falconer, what a pleasure to have you join us. How have your preparations been faring? Are the troops nearly ready to march?”

Her golden eyes pierced him for a few long moments before she responded. “I can only speak for the Falconers. We have come quite far in the past few weeks, but the true wonder is how the other legions have grown.” There was a pause as she sipped her tea, and only my experience playing politics with the human queens allowed me to catch the implication of her unspoken words: how the other legions have grown, _for lesser faeries_. “The Generals could give you a more comprehensive report than I.”

Douglass gave her a saccharine smile. “I will take your word for it.” He didn’t even spare a glance for Liv and Alistair.

I turned my attention to his wife. “The gardens outside are exquisite. My sister Elain would be entranced by them – she has quite the green thumb. Do you have a hand in overseeing them?”

Her face brightened, and she met my eyes. “Yes, High Lady–”

“Is this your _human_ sister?” Douglass attempted to hide the scorn in his voice with feigned interest.

“Yes. She lives below the wall with our eldest sister and our father.” I was calm, I was composed.

“Oh my. Surely it would be safer for them to join us in the Spring Court, what with the looming threat of war. Or, rather, perhaps you should go to them, so that you can protect them from Hybern.”

My teacup rattled as I slammed it against its matching plate. “Do not presume to understand what is safe. My family is well-protected.” I lifted my cup with rattling hands to sip in an attempt to even my tone. When I had calmed my anger, I said, “But I suppose I shouldn’t lay too much blame at your feet for misunderstanding the situation. After all, you’ve spent so little time with the armies.”

A servant came in with a tray of finger sandwiches and biscuits and fruit, and I helped myself to the choicest apple before continuing.

I leaned back on the couch and said casually, “You know, it might do you good to spend some time with the Military. Surely, if we’re speaking of safety, it would be safer to develop some combat skills in the war camp than to remain holed up here, leagues from the nearest estate.”

There was silence. Even the servant that came to deliver a fresh pot of tea froze in his spot halfway to the sitting area. Douglass narrowed his eyes at me as he searched for the proper response, one that would remove him and his family from my implication. His wife stared into her teacup.

But the oldest of their children, a handsome young male with high cheekbones and bright green eyes, spoke up.

“Forgive me, High Lady, are you suggesting we join the Military?”

His father nearly hissed at him, and even his mother dared so shoot him a worried glance.

But it was too late. They had fallen into my trap. And I had won.

“What an idea!” I plastered an expression of innocent surprise on my face. “That’s quite a brave act to volunteer for. I admire your dedication. Of course, we’ll have to ask the General if she can accept more soldiers…” I cocked my head at Liv. “General, what do you say? Do you think there’s space to accept the High Fae?”

Liv studied the Douglass family, then looked at me with lazy cat’s eyes. “I suppose we could make room for them. They’d have to start as low-ranking foot soldiers, seeing as we’re already quite far in the training regime, but I never turn away volunteers.”

I settled even further back into the couch and took a bite of my apple. Juice ran over my chin and trickled down the exposed skin of my chest. “Marvelous! That settles it, then.” I set the half-eaten apple on the glass table before us and stood, followed by the rest of my delegation. “We will expect your arrival at the training grounds in four days. See to it that you do not delay.”

Seeing that we were to leave, Douglass sprang to his feet. “High Lady,” he pleaded. “You can’t _do_ this!”

I lost my cheerful demeanor and raised a cool eyebrow at him. “Oh? And who are you to tell the High Lady of the Spring Court what she can or cannot do?” Perhaps it was my imagination, or perhaps the room darkened just a hint as I held Douglass with my stare.

I watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed. “I…” He swallowed again. “I simply meant to invite your party to spend the evening. I’m sure you’re exhausted from your travels. Perhaps we may discuss the matter further over dinner.”

“This is not open for discussion. You will join the Military. You, Douglass, your family, and the rest of the High Fae who have sought for years to hide from conflict behind your riches. This is your world. It’s time you took some responsibility for it.”

I didn’t relieve them from my gaze for a long while. When a bead of sweat broke out on the lord’s forehead, I abandoned the haughty attitude for false cheer once more.

“I suppose spending a few days here wouldn’t hurt, though. We kindly accept your offer.”

Douglass’s wife gave me a shallow nod. “Very good, High Lady. We will have the master rooms cleared for you and the High Lord, and your companions may have the rooms just down the corridor.”

Her husband shot her a look of unadulterated hatred, and I noticed his hand twitch toward the air before he reigned in the movement and his emotion. “The master rooms are currently occupied,” he said through gritted teeth. “Perhaps we could offer you more suitable accommodations? The tower rooms get beautiful views of the sunset.”

I didn’t care about a view of the sunset. I cared about earning some gods-damned respect from the lord. “I can’t think of a more suitable accommodation for the High Lord and Lady of Spring than the master rooms.”

He gritted his teeth and grudgingly nodded. “Very well. I will see to it immediately.”

We started toward the gilded doors, two servants struggling to open each of them. Lucien, Ianthe, and the Generals flanked me and Tam, and our guards formed a half ring behind them. We were completely blocked from the Douglass family’s view, but not yet far away enough not to hear when the male turned to his children and muttered, “Who does this human bitch think she is?”

I wasn’t the only one who heard. Beside me, my companions’ backs stiffened. My guards disappeared. As one, my friends turned disbelieving heads back toward Douglass, nailing him with what I could only hope was their fiercest glares.

I could only hope, because too much anger seethed within me to see them.

In my village back home, I had weathered insults from Nesta and gossip about the loss of our father’s fortune from the wealthy families. Under the Mountain, I had withstood jeering from the vile creatures of Amarantha’s court. In the Dawn Court, I had set aside my pride and approached the High Lords as their inferior, even though I had saved them from Amarantha and was their equal twiceover by law.

To bear the same disregard and disrespect from a pompous lord who cared for nothing but himself was the last straw. For my own sake, I could not take another minute of belittlement. The lies had to end.

For his wife’s sake, as well, I had to put him in his place. I saw how she lived in fear of him, refusing to lift her eyes from the ground, and I saw how difficult it had been for him to refrain from striking her when she had offered us their rooms.

I had an idea.

The servants were nearly finished closing the doors when I blasted them open with a flick of air. That bizarre family portrait rattled in its frame. I heard a crash and saw a teacup in shards on the carpet at one of the children’s feet.

Inside the sitting room, the family was on its knees, trembling with fright. When I looked past them, I saw why. My guards held golden swords to their necks.

I appreciated the loyalty, how they leapt to defend my honor. More and more, I began to see their usefulness. Perhaps I wouldn’t disband them when the war was over, after all.

For now, I set them at ease with a wave of my hand.

“Come now, that won’t be necessary.”

I nearly laughed at the look my guards gave me – a mix between disappointment and annoyance. They must truly be chafing for some action.

The Douglass family rose to shaky feet. They did not sit. They did not meet my eyes, as if they were as afraid of being at my mercy as at the mercy of the guards.

A part of me relished in it. Fear was a weapon. I was beginning to master it.

“I forgot to mention. Your family has the honor of hosting a ball to celebrate the public announcement of my coronation. Four nights from now, the Spring Court will open its borders to the other courts. Be sure to have the estate in order to impress the High Lords and their advisers. I leave the rest to you. Do not disappoint me.” I gave them a smile fit for the Court of Nightmares.

Another child’s teacup fell. Douglass’s wife finally dared to meet my eyes. The blood had drained from Douglass’s face.

I left them to their bewilderment.

♦♦♦

My friends swamped me with questions the moment we left the sitting room.

“What about the Blood Moon?”

“The Blood Moon is due the following night. It will be the last night before we head to war.”

“Surely the High Lords want to be with their armies to oversee the final preparations.”

I dismissed Lucien’s objection. “They can spare a few hours, especially if it’s to investigate the claim of a female as the first High Lady.”

Servants dipped into low bows as we passed the marble corridors of the mansion, scurrying away as soon as we passed. They made no attempt to stop us.

“What about the wards? How can you be sure the High Lords will risk the loss of their magic?”

“Tam can lift the wards for one night.”

He gave me a funny look. “You can, too, you know.”

It took me a moment to understand. The wards must have been attuned not to Tam himself, but to the High Lord of Spring, whoever that may be. And evidently, that expanded to the High Lady as well.

“We will do it together.” Our eyes met, and his hand slid into mine. A silent agreement.

A small wave swelled within me at the prospect. A team. We were a team, equal in everything.

I broke eye contact and turned my gaze forward again. There was a brief lull as my friends digested the idea.

And then, into it, Celis repeated, “ _All_ the High Lords?”

I faltered a step, and Tam’s grip on my hand tightened. Lucien shot me a worried glance. But I would not be a coward.

“Yes, all the High Lords.” The thought of Rhysand’s letter this morning comforted me slightly, knowing he sought reconciliation. Not that I intended to grant it. But I couldn’t hide from him forever, and I couldn’t spend the rest of my eternal life in fear. As allies in this war and equal rulers of his court, we would have to learn to work together. “I cannot avoid him forever.”

She nodded, but she looked as if she didn’t wholly trust my judgement on the matter.

“We meet on our turf this time,” Lucien said with a fire as fierce as his hair. “We know the land. Your guards will be at your side to make sure he behaves.”

“ _I_ will make sure he behaves.” Tam’s voice was gruff, nearly primal. It was a welcome declaration, and the words smoothed my pounding heart. I brushed a thumb over his hand as a thank you. He raised our clasped hands to kiss the back of my palm.

Safe. He would keep me safe. He, and Lucien, and Celis, and Liv, and Alistair, and my guards. With my friends as a buffer, Rhysand would be hard-pressed to try anything with me. He would not touch me. He would not hurt me.

“And,” Liv said casually, “Our legions will be ready to march.”


	36. Chapter 36

A servant caught up with us and showed us to our rooms. When we reached the master rooms, I could see why Douglass had been reluctant to give them up. They were twice the size of the cottage I had shared with my father and sisters for years. The closet alone was as large as my room in Tam’s manor.

Golden trinkets sat in every corner and on every side table. The walls were lacquered in a similar style to the living room, in purple and ivory rather than pink. I ignored the four-poster bed in the center of the room.

The sound of running water caught my attention, and I followed it through a set of doors paned with frosted glass. Two massive copper tubs commanded the space, with more knobs and faucets than I could imagine purposes for. A servant had begun filling them, and bubbles were collecting in the air.

Strong hands wrapped around my waist. From behind me, Tam rested his head on my shoulder. My fingers entwined with his. I felt the smooth muscles of his arms and chest against me, so real, so solid. He held me gently. This was a male who would never try to hurt me. This was a male who would never leave me.

His thumb began to make slow circles along my ribcage. Without thought, my body leaned into his. My head tilted back, golden-brown curls sweeping back to expose pale skin below. Gently, Tam lowered his lips to my neck, then my collarbone, following the deep vee of my dress.

“I love you,” he whispered between kisses.

“I love you, too.” For some reason, this time the lie wasn’t quite so difficult to get out.

I put a hand beneath his chin and drew him up to study his eyes. Green met blue. I raised myself on my toes to stand level with him. I closed my eyes, and I leaned in.

“Good evening, High Lord, High Lady.”

The doors were flung open, and Celis strode in. Hastily, I backed away from Tam, but she seemed oblivious to the intimacy of the moment.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she continued. “I’ve been _dying_ for a bath, and I hear you have the best tubs on the estate.” And with that, she began undressing before us.

I stared at her for a moment before I could speak. “Celis – what are you _doing_?”

She looked up at me with such innocence on her face I knew it could only be feigned. “I’m taking a bath. You don’t mind, do you, Tamlin?” She turned her attention toward him just as he prepared to admonish her. “Feyre and I need some time to talk. Female issues, you know,” she whispered conspiratorially.

At that, Tam went stiff, and he took an awkward half-step back from us. He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. I understand.” He nearly tripped over his feet in his attempt to exit the room.

Celis chuckled and continued to disrobe. When she stood in nothing but her skin, she tossed a glance over her shoulder at me. “Well? Are you coming?” She didn’t wait for my answer before climbing into the tub closest to her, buried up to the neck in bubbles.

I felt Tam’s consciousness disappear down the hall. Too far away for me to run after him.

I sighed and followed Celis’s lead. The dress slipped off my shoulders and landed as a pool of silk on the floor.

The bath oils stung where they met the scratches on my arms as I settled into the tub. I sat with my back to the copper walls, then slid down until the water reached my shoulders, my neck. I slid further. Water covered my chin, my mouth, my nose, my eyes. I slid until my entire body was submerged. The tub was large enough that I hung suspended in the bathwater.

All sound was muted. I felt my hair billow around me.

Maybe I could remain here forever, removed from the world around me. No war, no conflict, no petulant High Fae that refused to accept me. No faeries who placed their lives in my hands, trusting me to lead them in battle. No war councils, no alliances, no High Lords. No friends, no family, no engagement.

No mate.

I opened my eyes, and dark, menacing shadows swirled in my vision, reaching toward me, grabbing for me.

I screamed. Water flooded my mouth. I tried to breathe, and water went up my nose. I thrashed against the shadows, but they continued to twist around me, tightening around my arms, my legs, holding me down, refusing to let go.

My lungs were on fire. I was coughing underwater, fighting for air, fighting to escape the murky water. Dark spots bloomed in my vision, and from far away, I found myself losing consciousness. Soon, it would all be over. The shadows would surround me. They would pull me deeper. They would wrap around my neck, and Rhysand would squeeze the life from me.

I felt them then, the shadows gripping me and drawing me through the water. With the last of my strength, I fought them. Kicking, flailing, screaming soundlessly for Tam, for Lucien, for anyone to help me as my mate dragged me under.

Then, light burned my eyes. Water spewed from my nose, my mouth, and sweet, blessed air replaced it. I fell from the tub, splashing water across the tiled floor, and landed against Celis.

Celis. The hands belonged to her. She had pulled me from the water. She had saved me.

A spasm wracked my body, and I doubled over as I vomited water. Over and over, I heaved until bile enflamed my throat and I thought to find my guts on the floor. All the while, Celis held my hair and rubbed my back. 

“Let it out,” she murmured. “Just let it all out.”

So I did.

When my stomach was empty, tears began to spill from me. When the tears ceased, words took their place.

I don’t know how long I talked for. It felt like hours, it felt like seconds.

I told her everything. I started at the beginning, and I carried on to the end.

♦♦♦

About my mother’s lavish parties.

About her death and the loss of our family fortune.

About years of starving and freezing and shared space and bickering.

About the massive grey wolf.

About Isaac, then Tamlin, then Rhysand.

About how I had been broken Under the Mountain and he had put me back together.

About the Night Court and Velaris.

About my mating, my marriage, my title.

About the human queens and Adriata and the Book of Breathings.

About the fateful mission to nullify the Cauldron’s power.

About my deception.

About how I had lied to everyone I loved, everyone I cared for.

About all the pain I had caused and all the mistakes I had made.

About the hole I had dug myself into, impossible to crawl out.

About the Suriel’s warnings.

About how they had come true.

About that night.

About shadows and wings and menace.

♦♦♦

When I had finally run out of words, when I could finally bring myself to meet Celis’s eyes, I found no judgement in them. It took me a moment to discern what, exactly, those golden eyes held. Not through any fault of her own, but because, of all the emotions I had anticipated, sympathy was not one of them.

But there it was. Sympathy.

No disgust. No hatred. No hurt.

Just… sympathy.

A soft smile played on her features, leathery skin molded into tenderness. She slid an arm under my knees, and the other cradled my back. She carried me to the second tub.

The bubbles had all nearly dissolved, but the water remained warm.

“I have a story I’d like to share with you.”

I nodded.

“A few centuries back, when I was still quite young, my falcon and I had a falling-out. We were hunting some naga that had breached the Spring Court borders. Naga, I’m sure you know, are fast and strong and cruel creatures.” I did know, and I remembered that day in the forest three lifetimes ago when four had cornered me. “We were following their scent when the trail went cold. My falcon and I got in a petty argument, and in a fit of anger, he flew on ahead, regardless of my warnings to stay and assess the path.”

While she talked, Celis untangled my hair and helped wash the spots I couldn’t reach on my back and made sure my head stayed above water. “He flew right into the trap they had set for us. I was too far away to link with him, to see where he was. I could only feel that he was scared and that he was injured. That was the most terrifying week of my life. I went wild with rage, with fear, with hatred. I swore that when I found the naga, their deaths would be slow and painful.”

She let out a long breath, as if telling the story brought up the feelings she spoke of. “On the sixth day, I was close to irrevocable madness. Following the bond in my head, I had chased them to the western seaboard. I figured they were heading to the delta there, a well-known naga den. And, since I was so blind with rage and so arrogant in my abilities, I didn’t notice when the bond no longer pointed toward the den.

“I was nearly upon the den, and my senses were on fire. I ran through the underbrush, my bow strung and drawn, ready to fire at the first sign of the naga. When I heard a rustling behind me, I didn’t pause before loosing my arrow.”

A pit had begun to form in my stomach as soon as she mentioned losing track of the bond. And even though I could tell where the story led, I wasn’t quite prepared for it as she said, “I didn’t hit a naga. I hit my falcon.”

Celis fell silent, and her hands stilled. I took them in my own. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. She stared absently at the tiled floor. Her mouth opened once, twice, and I saw the struggle between her mind that needed to say the next words and her body that refused to let them out, as if the horrors of the past would cease to exist, if only she could hold back the words.

“The arrow glanced off one of his wings. I watched him fall from the sky. The sound his body made when it hit the ground…” She shuddered.

“It was instinct. It was a misunderstanding. But I’ve never quite forgiven myself for it, even though he forgave me long ago.”

Celis glanced up at me. Seeing the worry on my face, she forced me to settle back against the tub and resumed finger-combing my hair.

“It was the worst moment of my life. My falcon refused to come near me for months. But we are bonded for life. Through the bad as well as the good. And one day, once his wing had healed and he was ready to face me, he returned to me.”

At the mention of the bond, I understood what Celis was saying.

My shoulders curved inward, and I slid deeper into the tub, until my chin was level with the water. “It’s not the same.” The words passed through the smallest crack between my lips.

“Isn’t it?”

I didn’t respond for a while. Instead, I let water trickle into my ears. My head leaned back until my face was framed with water.

“You’re saying I should forgive him.”

“I would not presume to tell you what to do. Only you can decide what you’re ready for, or if you’re ever ready for it. I only wanted to share a story that resonated with me and to see if it held any resonance for you. I only wanted to show you that _if_ – and by no means do I hold any expectations – but _if_ you wanted to seek reconciliation with your mate, that road is not closed to you forever.”

♦♦♦

This time, when I found another letter waiting for me after I had dressed, I hesitated for a moment before turning it to ash.


	37. Chapter 37

A servant fetched ink and paper at my request. I set up in the sitting room just outside the bedroom, equipped with a desk painted in elegant swirls and more of those plush velvet couches.

It felt right, to pen the invitations myself. No doubt I could have found a servant to scribe for me, and no doubt their handwriting would have been far more elegant than the chicken scratch my untrained hand was able to manage. But writing the words myself, forming each letter…

When I had first come to Prythian, Tam had called my illiteracy a shortcoming. Now, to be able to write these invitations without relying on others seemed fitting. I was leaving behind all I had been – illiterate, poor, weak, human – and announcing who I had become to the world.

Fae. Strong. Powerful. Literate.

I appreciated what a privilege it was to be able to do so. I appreciated that Rhysand had spent the time to teach me. For all our transgressions against one another, he had had my best interests at heart. Until he hadn’t.

I only wished that I didn’t feel so beholden to him. It felt as if he penned the invitations, for it had been his hand that had taught mine.

I wanted to be free of him. I wanted my success to be my own – because I had earned it through hard work and not because some male had wanted not to be so alone in his power.

I could see the situation more clearly now that it was over between me and Rhysand. Maybe it made sense that things had turned out this way, with me ending up with Tam. I was more of a High Lady of Spring than I ever had been of Night.

How much had I really known about the Night Court? Cauldron boil me, how much did I know about it even now? What little I did know paled in comparison to my knowledge, my experience with the Spring Court.

If I ever returned, if I ever felt reconciled enough to do so, I vowed I would seek to know it the way I had come to know the Spring.

The ink had pooled on the desk, staining the painted designs. It had dripped from my pen, suspended in midair, hovering over the invitation in my hesitation. My experience with balls was bounded by my limited memory within the human lands, when my mother had thrown lavish gatherings and received invitations in return.

I admonished myself for ruining the desk, and then I admonished myself for my hesitation. Never had I claimed rigorous education or a high society background. The High Lords knew my history – they’d had a front row seat Under the Mountain while I’d pleaded my case before Amarantha. And they’d been privy to all my dirty laundry as it was aired out at the meeting just a few days ago.

They knew I was not a lady of the upper class. They knew I had been human. They knew I was the Cursebreaker. They knew of my status within the Military, second only to the General.

What they did not know was that I was High Lady.

The first of her kind. Unique. Unknown. Untried.

And that would be enough to draw them in. There was no need to woo them with polite formalities and strict etiquette.

I set my pen to paper and continued to write.

♦♦♦

The sky was dark by the time the letters were finished. A purple and ivory liveried servant had come in halfway through and left a tray of food for me. When I finally came to touch the pastry-wrapped morsels, I do not think it was the lukewarm temperature that disappointed me, rather that, between the Dawn Court specialties and my chef friend’s skills, I had begun to take for granted the culinary quality around me.

When the same servant came back to take away the tray, I handed him the invitations with strict instructions to see them delivered only into the hands of the High Lords.

I brushed myself off and stood. There had been no sign of Tam since Celis had shooed him away hours ago. No sign of anyone, save for Celis and the servant who had brought me food.

I set to wandering the halls of the Douglass mansion. Regal portraits of High Fae lined the walls, generations of Douglasses staring down their noses at me as I passed them. I pretended that they were the High Lords, and I practiced staring them down.

The hallway let out to an open-air corridor that wrapped around the mansion. As much as I had scoffed at wanting a view of the grounds earlier, I had to admit that this one was spectacular. The gardens sprawled before me, extending as far as my eyes could see. The moon hadn’t yet risen, but light from the stars caught on the jewel-toned flowers, and they seemed to sparkle against the night.

I placed my hand against the railing and followed where it led.

There was an outcropping as the corridor changed direction to coil against one of the turrets, and I nearly ran into a figure in green and gold.

Lucien. He had changed out of his dress uniform into his standard one, and his damp hair had been combed until not a single strand of deep orange flame was out of place. He was leaning with his elbows on the railing, gazing out toward the forest. A pipe hung between his lips.

He made no move, gave no sign of surprise when I rounded the corner. He merely tipped his head to me in greeting and continued to stare into the night.

“Mind if I join you?”

He shrugged. “Am I allowed to say no?”

“No, you’re not.” I gathered my own damp hair and twisted it over my shoulder as I settled next to him, my back against the railing. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

“What’s that?”

I let out a sigh and tipped my head back. “I don’t know. All of it, I guess. The posturing, the politics.”

He turned his head toward me. “Feyre, if you wanted a life free of politics, you chose the wrong job.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “You know what I mean. I just wish…” I trailed off, unable to find the right words to convey the weight that pressed ever harder against my chest.

“It was easier,” he finished for me. “I do too. I wish we didn’t have to depend so heavily on the High Fae, the other courts.”

“I would have thought you’d enjoy these meetings, being the Spring Court’s Emissary.”

It was his turn to sigh. “I enjoy meeting people, sure. Building relationships, understanding others’ customs and cultures. But dealing with pricks? Not so much. I don’t have much interest in dealing with those who want nothing to do with me.”

I watched his fists clench and unclench around the railing, and I understood to what he was referring. I had been so absorbed in my own worries to think about what my friend must have felt during the meeting. What horrible memories seeing his father and brothers must have dredged up.

I laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to see them. But I want you to know that you are nothing like them. Hey,” he had looked away, and I forced him to meet my eyes once again, “Listen to me. You are not defined by where you came from. You are better than them. Beron’s heart is coated in tar. Yours… Lucien, you have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met. Don’t let them take that from you.”

His metal eye was very still. “Thank you,” he said finally. “But…” he turned away again as he trailed off.

“But what?” I demanded.

He grimaced, as if he regretted saying anything. “You don’t understand.”

I flicked him upside the head with a tendril of air.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“I don’t _understand_? Are you serious? I may not be centuries old, but let’s have a brief reminder. My own family abandoned me to Prythian. My father refused to fight for me. My elder sisters are glad I left because their fortune mysteriously returned as soon as I was gone. When they found out what happened to me…” I shook my head. “They may not have tried to kill me, but they want as little to do with me as your family wants with you. Trust me, I understand what it’s like to have difficult family relations.”

He had the good sense to look abashed, especially once I added, “And I’m sure you haven’t forgotten how I get treated at these meetings.” I elbowed him, perhaps harder than I should have. “You should be thanking me, you know. For giving the rumor mill something new to grind, instead of your personal life.”

But Lucien barely showed a whisper of a smile and blew a ring of smoke into the night. A servant passed by and offered us some wine. I took a glass, but he kept his gaze toward the stars.

When he finally replied, his voice was low but honed to a sharp edge. “It makes me so angry. They just sat there and acted like nothing had ever happened, like they didn’t even know me. He tossed around insults, pointed fingers, and then they were gone, just like that.”

“Did you expect them to be civil?”

He barked out a humorless laugh. “No, I suppose not. But neither did I expect them to be so blind to the threat. Even Rhysand was willing to work with us.”

I stared into my wine and swirled it before taking a long sip.

“I’m sorry,” he said, noticing my reticence.

“Don’t be. I need to learn how not to be a coward.”

“You don’t have to invite him to the ball, if you don’t want to. It’s your party.”

“I don’t have to invite the Autumn Court, either. I won’t, if you don’t want me to. I’ll personally chase down the invitation.”

He laughed, and I joined him. “No, you’re right. If you can face Rhysand, I can face my father.”

“Do you think they’ll come?”

“Do you want me to answer that?”

I didn’t.

We settled into silence once more. Lucien extinguished his pipe and turned his back to the gardens, imitating my stance against the railing. He gestured toward my wine, and I passed him the glass. He downed it in one gulp, and I swatted him for leaving none for me.

We left in search of more wine. A spiral staircase led us down to the kitchens, where we were met with shouts of outrage that Fae in such high standings as ours visited such lowly quarters. Lucien held his hands up in surrender and tried to smooth-talk the cooks, while I searched for a bottle. I found one near ceramic bowls of oil and vinegar, and we darted out before causing any more commotion.

The spiral stairs wound up past the outdoor corridor, and we followed it as it grew dust-ridden and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Lucien wanted to turn back, but I urged him onward, until the stairs ended in a door that opened onto the roof of the mansion.

The roof was flat, finished as if designed for use, with smooth railings that ran around the edge. The bars were just wide enough that we could reach through without fear of falling. Lucien stuck his legs through and leaned forward so that his head jutted out, shoulders braced against the bars.

In that moment, I envied his uniform. My flowy dress didn’t allow for such movement. But then I remembered where we were and who I was with. We were on the roof of a sprawling mansion on a secluded estate. And Lucien certainly didn’t care about social protocol.

His brows knitted together when he saw me clamber down next to him. “What are you–”

“What does it look like? I’m not going to let you have all the fun.”

The dress was pushed up to expose my thighs, and he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at me. I snorted at the implication, and he chuckled. Our relationship had never been romantic. We were friends, friends that could get drunk and act silly without risking judgement from each other.

I reached back for the bottle I had swiped from the kitchens. It had been opened previously, and I twisted off the wax cap. Somewhere along the way, Lucien had left behind the wine glass, so I took a swig straight from the bottle.

I spewed it into the empty air before me. “Sweet,” I coughed. “It’s like syrup.”

“Gods, Feyre, what did you grab?”

I handed him the bottle, and he rolled his eyes when he sniffed it. “This is cooking wine. Think about the poor chef – what will they use now?” he teased.

“It was the only wine I saw!”

He took a sip, much smaller than mine, and chuckled as the taste met his tongue. He swished the wine around in his mouth before swallowing. “From my best guess, Feyre, you’ve robbed Douglass of a delectable dinner of wine-braised beef. Well done.”

I snatched the bottle back from him and took a sip this time. “I aim to please.”

Footsteps sounded behind us, and we didn’t have a chance to scramble to our feet before a voice said, “What in the Cauldron’s name are you two _doing_?”

It was Tam. When we recognized his voice, Lucien and I settled back against the rails.

“Feyre stole some wine. Care to join?”

I held up the bottle and craned my neck backwards to smile at him. For a moment, two Tams swum in my vision. “Cooking wine.”

He shook his head. “You two look ridiculous.”

“I would argue,” said Lucien, “That, considering there are two of us and one of you, it is you who is ridiculous.”

Tam rolled his eyes and came to sit at my side. “I am not drunk enough for this,” he muttered as he took the wine from me.

And soon enough, he was as sober as me and Lucien. Which was to say not at all.


	38. Chapter 38

“Do you remember,” he asked Lucien, “That first meal Feyre ate with us? When she first came to the manor?”

“When she asked if she could be our slave? Mmm yes, I think I would have preferred that course of events.”

Tam laughed, and I swatted at both of them. “Too bad I ended up saving your lives instead.”

“But not before you hatched a plot to kill us with silverware. Remind me, Tam, was that the first night or the second?”

“The second, thank you very much,” I interrupted, leaving no room for Tam to respond. “And if I remember correctly, you interrogated me about my love life that first night.” I twisted my head back toward Tam. “And _you_ thought that commenting on the cleanliness of my hair was a compliment.”

His eyes twinkled playfully. “Let me assure you, my charms have improved immensely since then.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Feyre, your hair is finer than the most lustrous spun gold money can buy in Prythian or on the continent. Your eyes are endless caverns, so deep I fear one day I might lose myself in them. Your smile is bright enough to illuminate a thousand nights. Your lips–”

“Alright that’s enough,” Lucien said with a cough. “I think you’ve made your point. Get a room or cut it out.”

Tam chuckled. “You’re just jealous that your skills with females pale in comparison to mine.”

“That is _not_ true!”

“Yes, it is.” I cast a skeptical look toward him. “How many times did you try to kill me in those first few weeks?”

“None!”

“Didn’t you send Feyre to get eaten by a Suriel?”

“She _asked_ me how to find one! My information only showed her how to catch it. You couldn’t have blamed me if it happened to, well, eat her in the process.”

I shot him a glare. “Maybe I’ll send it to eat you next time I see it.”

“Ah, yes I forgot. Feyre and the Suriel, thick as thieves. You know, for how much you used to despise faeries, Feyre, there’s a beautiful irony in your current status. Turn and turnabout, eh?”

“Because I thought you all were going to _EAT_ me!”

“Is that why you tried running away when you thought no one was watching you?”

I threw my arms in the air in surrender to remember that embarrassing moment when I’d followed the puca wearing the face of my father before I had been granted the ability to see all the faeries in the manor. “I give up,” I said and slumped back against the smooth stones that lined the rooftop.

Lucien and Tam lay back on either side of me, dissolved into a fit of laughter.

Laughter. Gods, how long had it been since I’d seen him laugh? How long since I’d seen Lucien laugh, for that matter? And as for myself…

I could not ignore the ache in my chest, an ugly mingling of pain and fear and guilt. It would remain with me for many months, years, maybe centuries to come. But being with Tam and Lucien, recalling our shared history, letting myself loose amongst friends, eased the pain. They helped me bear it, though they were both unaware of it.

The two of them would never replace the families I had lost. But with them, I had found a different family. They loved me, they looked out for me. They finally, after all the months of struggling for autonomy and independence, supported me, respected me, and understood me. For all their teasing, I knew they no longer saw me as the human who had fallen in love with the High Lord. Now I was one of them – an equal, and a friend.

It was the three of us. It had _always_ been the three of us. I don’t know why I hadn’t been able to see it until now. Throughout my time at the Night Court, they hadn’t once stopped looking for me, fighting for me. Hell, Tam had allied with Hybern just to free me from the horrors he had believed me subject to.

Tam and Lucien weren’t perfect. There had been that rough period, right after Under the Mountain. But we’d all been under so much stress, trying desperately to heal and return to normalcy. And what sort of hypocrite would I be, if I demanded perfection from my friends after all the terrible deeds I’d done?

I could forgive imperfection.

What I could not forgive was apathy.

I hadn’t heard from the Night Court in a month. Nothing from Amren, from Cassian or Azriel, not even Mor. Rhysand had reached out, but only selfishly. He’d always sought any excuse to clash with Tam, and I had been convenient enough to provide one for him, that night I spent with Tam.

That night…

I tilted my head to gaze at the High Lord beside me. He was watching me. Studying my movements, my face, the way my dress clung to my body, the skin of my thighs exposed against the starlight.

“I wasn’t–” His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat. “I wasn’t lying about what I said earlier. I truly could get lost in the depths of your eyes.”

A shiver ran down my spine, and I reached to grasp his hand in mine.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue.” Lucien moved to stand, but Tam motioned for him to stay.

“No need. We’ll leave.” To me, he said, “Come with me.”

Without rising, he adjusted the grip on my hands, and the world went dark for a moment. The next moment, we were no longer at the Douglass estate. It took me few seconds for me to realize where we were. But then I recognized the black and white checkered marble that lined the floors of the manor.

The moon shone through the windows at the end of the hallway. Tam was a few steps ahead of me, and I followed his gaze out the window into the gardens beyond. Our gardens didn’t sprawl, not like Douglass’s. Yet there was something to them that Douglass’s never would have. These gardens, this manor… This was my home.

I closed my eyes and breathed in deep. The scent of the flowers filled me. As if in response, the magic within me stirred. It began to simmer, to bubble in its bottomless well. I breathed again, and the bubbles grew more vigorous, rising higher and higher until they threatened to overflow from the well.

When I thought I could hold it back no longer, I let the magic – my magic, the magic of the Spring Court, the magic I had fought so hard for – enter me.

I opened my eyes. Colors burst forth against the dark of night. The paintings that lined the walls captured my attention, such precise detail I could never hope to achieve. From the corner of my eye, the roses beyond the windows reached toward me, gleaming red in the moonlight. Not Amarantha’s red nor the red of the blood stones Ianthe wore, but a true red. The red of passion, and of life.

I knew why Tam had brought me here.

The magic that swelled within me swelled within him as well. His figure was aglow with magic, his aura illuminating the hallway. A rosy glow that was the blooming of flowers and freshly cut grass and the faintest sprinkling of rain. Spring incarnate.

Tamlin. The High Lord of Spring. My High Lord.

He was a beacon against the night.

I took his hand, and we climbed the staircase together.

This time, we went past my bedroom. Further down the hall, past Lucien’s door, past all the others that lined the corridor, until we arrived at the heavy oak doors at the end of the hall.

Tam’s room.

I had never been here, had never even dared creep to the end of the hallway before. When I had been human, I’d lived in fear of his wrath. After I’d become Fae, we’d spent our nights in my room. Never had I been allowed access. Until now.

I didn’t have time to think, to wonder what might lie beyond those oak doors.

He placed a hand to wood and pushed them open.

It was refined, elegant. The room was spacious, but not so spacious that it felt frivolous. A plush rug patterned in vines covered most of the floor. A fiddle sat in one corner, a dresser in another. But besides those two pieces, the only other furniture was the massive four-poster bed in the center of the back wall.

Brimming with magic, it was difficult for me to think of anything but the bed. Being in it. With Tam.

I was so taken by the bed – built of the same heavy oak wood as the doors, fitted with light blankets and silk pillows – that I didn’t immediately recognize what hung on the wall above it.

But then my eyes trailed upward.

My knees buckled beneath me.

I grabbed at the doors to keep from falling as bile rose in my throat.

The world slipped sideways, but I couldn’t look away from the two sets of Illyrian wings nailed to the wall.


	39. Chapter 39

There was a hand on my back.

Tam’s.

_Tamlin_.

An expression of concern was plastered like a caricature to his face.

Concern. That he had the nerve to be concerned, when…

A wave of bile heaved within me. I stumbled, finally able to tear my eyes from the wings. I backed away, one hand on my mouth, the other across my stomach. One step took me out of Tamlin’s arms. Two led me beyond the threshold. Three, and I was out of the room, bolting down the hallway.

Air. I needed air.

I couldn’t breathe. The walls of the manor pressed down upon me, confining me, strangling me. The hallway before me elongated, as if no matter how far I ran, I would never be free of it.

And then I was falling head over heels.

The staircase. I must have tripped on the staircase.

I landed hard at the base of the stairs. My jaw rattled, and my teeth clamped down on my tongue. If there was supposed to be pain, I felt none. Instead, all I felt was…

I didn’t have the capacity to interpret what I felt. I didn’t have the capacity to do anything but continue to search for an exit to this marble prison that sought to trap me for eternity.

My feet were above my head. My hands were beneath me. I saw nothing but distant shouts echoing across my vision. I felt wildly for the door to the manor. The walls kept pushing against me, pressing my head and my feet toward each other. It was only a matter of time before I became nothing but bones and flesh.

I lashed out around me, and my fist connected with a smooth surface. I didn’t know what it was – it could have been the door, it could have been a faerie.

But I threw all my might against it. I dug my toes into the floor. I scratched at the surface until my fingernails were nothing more than thin strips against raw skin. Where there should have been blood in my mouth, I tasted only my own desperation.

Something gave way beneath me, and I pitched forward. The crisp scent of nighttime dew hit my nose.

I had made it. I was outside.

I was free.

Light stung my eyes, unused to such brightness compared to the darkness that poisoned the manor. It was the moon, finally gracing me with its presence after being trapped behind the treetops. I clung to it, as bright as the sun against the black of night. Its light mingled with my magic to illuminate me, to give me the strength to put one leg in front of the other, carrying me away from the horror I didn’t yet know how to face.

The grass was no more stable beneath my feet than the marble floors of the manor had been.

I ran anyway.

It was not my Fae body that carried me to the forest. It was not the strength of my legs that sent me across the river and deeper into the mass of trees. It was not my ability to run for hours without tiring that drove me on and on.

After some time, the forest gave way to a village.

A little while later, I came to manicured landscapes only slightly less extravagant than those on the Douglass estate.

Farther and father, I ran.

My inhuman stamina did not push me onward into Spring Court lands I’d never before traversed. No, that was only a petty convenience. My flight was borne by something much more profound.

I didn’t know what it was until I pulled up short in a glen so dense the moonlight couldn’t reach the forest floor. I placed a hand against a tree trunk to brace myself. My breaths were ragged. My body was coated in a thin sheen of sweat. The hem of my dress was stained with dirt, and dust clung to my bare feet.

A glimmer below caught my eye. My ring. That garish, brutal diamond Tamlin had given me.

Before I could reach for it, magic thrust it from my finger, as if it had read my mind. The ring dropped to the forest floor soundlessly, and it disappeared.

I looked down at my dress again, with loathing this time. I held my magic firmly in my grasp still, and before I knew it, the dress was shredded to ribbons. They fell to the ground around me. In their place, I wore a tunic and soft pants.

Good for running. Good for fighting.

Fighting.

I needed to hit something, someone. I needed to beat someone until their face was nothing more than a mess of blood and bone.

But I also needed to wrap my arms around myself and crouch on my heels, rocking back and forth until I reached starvation or dehydration, whichever came first.

I needed…

I needed to know how I had been so stupid.

So stupid as to forget who Tamlin was. So stupid as to misremember all his misdeeds like some pathetic, lovesick girl. So stupid as to forget how he had locked me in that manor, how he had failed to see me as anything but a piece of his property, and how he had gone so far as to ally with Hybern to retrieve his property. So stupid as to believe that Tamlin had changed. 

He was not changed. He was no different from the male who had sought so fiercely to control me.

I saw it now. The fog that had clouded my mind was lifted, dissolved into the crisp nighttime air. The past month came into focus. The edges sharpened, and for the first time in weeks, I could see clearly.

Every word, every move, every touch had been a lie. He had lied to me, but I had also lied to myself. I had wanted to think Tamlin good, and so, in my mind – my scheming, craven mind – he had become good.

It must have been my power that had blinded me. I thought myself wise, and thoughtful, and able to guide Tamlin’s actions, to push him in whatever direction I so chose.

I had gotten carried away.

I should not have let myself get carried away. I should have kept him in my sights. I should have maintained my suspicions.

Because a male so quick to imprison the one he loves most dearly has no qualms about tormenting those he considers his enemy. Regardless of whether they pose him harm, or whether they are nothing more than helpless, innocent bystanders.

_My mother and sister were to travel to the Illyrian war-camp._

The words echoed in my head. There was no emotion attached to them, just a hollowness that began carving out my soul. It was the story Rhysand had told me, that day after we spent the night together in an inn.

_Tamlin’s father, brothers, and Tamlin himself set out into the Illyrian wilderness, having heard from Tamlin where my mother and sister would be._

It had been Tamlin’s fault. It had been _Tamlin’s_ fault that his father and brothers had known where to find them – not only in their own court, but in the heart of their territory. Their sanctuary. Their home. Where they should have been safe. Where they would have been safe, if not for Tamlin’s betrayal. Where none but the most consumed with malice would dare to venture.

_And they slaughtered my mother and sister._

_Tamlin_ had slaughtered them. Two innocent Illyrians, who had no conflict with him, posed no threat to him. For no reason other than to impress his father.

And, even if they had fought back, who were two Illyrians against a High Lord and his three sons? They had stood no chance, no matter how strong either of them had been. They had been outnumbered.

Tamlin’s father and brothers must have known that. They knew, they acknowledged, and they brushed it aside. They went ahead with their plan. They showed no mercy.

_They put their heads in boxes and sent them down the river._

He butchered them, then used them as pawns. As an example for future generations, to remind them of the ill will the Spring Court harbored toward any who stood in their path toward vengeance.

All his talk of being different from his father and brothers was as empty as the promises he’d made to me. When it had come down to it, he had chosen to adhere to the evil and corruption his family had borne. He had then, and he still did now. He was not a changed male. He was the same selfish, hateful male he had always been.

_Tamlin’s father kept their wings as trophies._

He wasn’t just like his father. He _was_ his father. And he cherished his trophies as dearly as his father had.

A vision of those wings, those beautiful, mangled wings, refused to leave my mind. Stakes had been driven through the delicate membrane. Dried blood still clumped against the edges where they had been severed, a constant reminder that they had belonged to Rhysand’s mother and sister.

I understood it, then. That knife that was wedged in my chest. The flame that boiled my blood. That impulse that had spurred me halfway across the Spring Court.

It was rage.

At last, emotion had returned to me.

I was furious.

I raked my ruined fingernails against my cheeks, leaving behind stripes of blood across my face. I tore at my hair, my tunic.

I needed to destroy something, anything I could grasp.

My magic bubbled wildly within me. So wildly that I failed to notice that the glen had grown larger.

But then something hot against my feet jerked me from my madness. Embers. A ring of embers encircled the glen, residues from the trees that had been there until just moments before.

I had incinerated them. Hundreds of trees that had stood for millennia. One moment they had lived, and the next they were gone. I had been wholly unaware of the magic that had escaped me in my wrath. It had been pure instinct.

I felt it now, crackling at my fingertips. Ready to leap to my will. I could burn the entire forest, the entire Spring Court even. All I had to do was issue the command. All I had to do was point my finger, and the court would go up in flames.

The entire court. The High Fae on their sickening estates, the abandoned villages, the war camp intent on protecting only the Spring Court, with no regard for anything or anyone else. The pandering faeries who followed orders so submissively, dressed up in their pretty uniforms, marching to whatever drums Tamlin and the Generals beat.

They deserved it. They all deserved it.

I dove into the well of my power. I gathered it within me, every gift I’d received from the High Lords. The magics that my status as High Lady had granted me. I dredged them forth until they reached the surface. Every inch of my being brimmed with magic. I was ready.

I took a deep breath and lifted a fist to my chest.

The motion reminded me of something.

I faltered.

The children. The faerie children, who had made that same gesture in greeting, broad smiles across their faces, when I had first arrived in the war camp.

My magic ebbed.

The children. The poor, innocent children.

What had I been thinking?

I hadn’t been thinking. I’d been so taken by rage that I had lashed out at those nearest to me. They weren’t the target of my anger, not even close. Yet I had tried to hurt those who trusted me, who loved me.

It was instinct. It was pure instinct.

Everything fell into place, and I crumpled onto the forest floor as I understood.


	40. Chapter 40

I understood.

I understood it all.

Rhys hadn’t tried to hurt me. Just like me, he had acted on instinct, enflamed by years of pain and trauma.

He hadn’t tried to hurt me.

My mate hadn’t tried to hurt me.

It had been a mistake. A misunderstanding.

Just as I had been blinded by power, I had been blinded by fear, by confusion. But now, here, in the same raged-fueled trance Rhys had been in, I could finally see what had happened that night.

He had been hurt. _I_ had hurt him, with my actions in the Spring Court, and with my bitter words that I still wished I could take back. Instinct had taken over.

It hadn’t been about me. I had been caught in the crossfire.

There was still hope for us. 

The ice that had formed around my heart began to melt.

In its place, the fire that had set my fingertips alight flared to life once more. Fire consumed me as I remembered Tamlin, and those wings on his bedroom wall. The wings that belonged to my mate’s mother and sister. And I knew, that if given the chance, Tamlin would not hesitate to hang my mate’s wings up there alongside his family’s.

My wrath was not gone. But this time, instead of channeling it outward, I channeled it inward, toward myself. Into the core of my being.

I was not Fae.

I was magic incarnate.

It touched every part of me, bored into me, and transformed me. My body became magic.

My body became lithe. My arms elongated before me. The forest around me became sharp as my eyes changed to accommodate the night. Fine black hair crawled up my legs, my abdomen, my arms, my face, replacing my pants and tunic. Something heavy weighed upon my back.

Only vaguely did I realize what was happening, as my mind shrank from that of a faerie to that of a predator.

The High Lords each had a beast that prowled beneath their skin. I had seen Tamlin’s, a massive golden creature. I had seen glimmers of Rhys’s, a winged figure of claws and feathers.

I supposed it was only appropriate that I had my own.

That was the last thought I remembered having before my transformation was complete. I was subsumed into my beast form.

I opened my jaws and roared into the night.

Then the crimson tide of rage took over, and Feyre was no more.

♦♦♦

When dawn broke across the forest, I found my way back to the glen.

I mended my tunic and pants, which had shredded as I morphed into my beast form. I searched for the diamond ring and placed it on the fourth finger of my right hand with steadfast resolve. The dress I left in tatters.

Before I left, I approached the ring of trees I had torched in my rage. Embers still smoldered on the ground, and thin trails of smoke reached toward the sky.

I put my hands to the grass and summoned the magic of the Spring Court. It poured from my fingertips into the grass, crawling toward the ruined trees. And before my eyes, they began to grow.

Scorched bark knitted itself back together. Leaves sprouted from branches, coloring in hues of deep green and yellow.

Within moments, the trees were not only healed, but taller and more vibrant than they had been before.

Each step was firm as I left the glen and made my way back to the Douglass estate.


	41. Chapter 41

I spent the days leading up to the ball visiting the other High Fae estates. The meetings went as well as the initial meeting with Douglass, but between my power as High Lady and an invitation to the ball, they all came around eventually.

Douglass’s wife did an extraordinary job planning, and within a day, the mansion had been transformed. The rooms were cleared of furniture to allow for mingling Fae and tables for food. The Great Hall, reserved for special occasions, was opened as servants prepared it for music and dancing. At the entrance at one end, a grand staircase trailed down toward the polished marble floors. At the other sat a dais with two gilded chairs. Thrones. One for me, and one for Tamlin.

The first units of High Fae began trickling into the war camp. True to her word, Liv secured tents for them in the heart of the camp, alongside the rest of the foot soldiers. For a couple days, the faeries skirted around the High Fae, afraid to meet their eyes or engage them despite their same rank. But by the day of the ball, I received word from Lucien that they had lost their prestige and the faeries had begun to treat them as equals, rather than superior.

Responses from the High Lords, as I had expected, arrived rapidly. Every single one of them promised to attend. Even Beron, who had wanted nothing to do with me nor the war effort.

Even Rhys.

I hadn’t gotten the chance to send word to him since my revelation. I thought to reach for him down the bond, but some small part of me still worried that he might not forgive me. I needn’t have worried, though. The day before the ball, a package addressed to me arrived at my rooms on the Douglass estate.

This time, I read the letter.

I hadn’t spoken to Tamlin since he’d shown me his bedroom. I’d barely been able to stomach being in the same room with him. But I reminded myself that one night, the night of the ball, stood between me and freedom. The ball was my endgame. The pieces would fall into place. I would be forever installed as the High Lady of the Spring Court, with none to challenge my position. And then I would be free to return home. To Velaris, to my family, and to my mate.

When dawn broke on the day of the ball, a Falconer approached me. She bore a message from Celis. I smiled and thanked her for the message.

Later, a Shapeshifter found me in my tent, this time with a message from Alistair. Again, I smiled and thanked him.

But it wasn’t until I was in my rooms on the Douglass estate, dusting my eyes with shimmery powder in preparation for the ball not an hour away, that a knock sounded at the door. One of the Lieutenants stood in the doorway. He cleared his throat and relayed the final message.

When he left, I looked in the mirror. I saw my half-finished makeup, black stains on my robe where I had spilled paint for my eyelashes. A laugh threatened to break my composure. My reflection certainly wasn’t one to inspire confidence.

Yet here I stood, High Lady of the Spring and the Night Courts. Tonight, I would appear before the High Lords not as a human, not as a High Lord’s fiancée.

No, tonight, I was a High Lady.

And if any of them dared cross me, I had the might of my court behind me.

The legions of the Spring Court were prepared to march.


	42. Chapter 42

The first delegations from the other courts began to trickle in. Tamlin had gone ahead and lifted the wards in my absence, which suited me just fine. He could play the gatekeeper while I prepared for my entrance.

Not that I needed much time to prepare. I had spent all of ten minutes wrangling with makeup before sending word for Alis to help.

She worked quickly, cleaning the smudged paints from my face and replacing them with a simple but elegant style – light lines around my eyes to make them appear larger and just a hint of blush to brighten my cheeks. My lips were left bare.

I planned on using them.

Alis rolled my hair into soft curls, left hanging freely.

I did not need intense makeup or an elaborate hairstyle. My presence, and my title, would speak for itself.

But that meant that Alis finished long before it was time for my entrance.

And, by the Cauldron, was it maddening to wait upstairs while the High Lords arrived.

I paced the length of the master rooms – barefoot, so as not to develop blisters before I joined the ball – as I felt their consciousnesses appear in the Great Hall below. Alis tried to soothe my nerves, but I doubt even Celis or Rhys could have pulled me from my anxiety about the coming hours. Even the stars seemed to taunt me from the window, twinkling with mirth as I gazed out at the cloudy, moonless night.

Kallias and Vivienne arrived first, followed shortly by Thesan and a handful of Dawn Court delegates. I recognized only one of them, his captain and lover, and I wondered how they would present their relationship at the ball. On one hand, High Fae, especially the Spring Court High Fae, scoffed at nontraditional relationships. On the other… well, Thesan _was_ a High Lord, and I doubted the High Fae would have the presumption to comment on his relationship. Though they had surprised me before.

My ears strained to hear the Spring Court faerie announce their names to those already gathered in the Great Hall – the most influential of the Spring Court High Fae, postponing their enlistment into the Military so to enjoy this one last night of luxury and revelry. But I recognized few of the names, and I resigned myself to waiting until it was time for my entrance.

The Summer Court arrived next, Tarquin, Varian, and Cresseida. It seemed the matter of the blood rubies truly had been settled, for them to appear – and so promptly, as well.

Rhys and Helion arrived in tandem, and I wondered for half a moment at what politics they were playing before the proximity of the bond overwhelmed me.

Rhys was here. My mate was here.

My anxiety melted away, and all I felt was joy.

He was here. And in just a few hours, we would return home. Together.

I recognized the two consciousnesses beside him: Mor and Amren. I was about to wonder at why the Illyrians hadn’t come when a mass of flames and smoke had appeared on my radar – Beron, along with an entourage three times the size of any other court. I could feel his sons, brimming with pride and spite, and his wife, Lucien’s mother, the Lady of the Autumn Court, steadfast at her husband’s side.

As they wandered the Great Hall, their consciousnesses – the High Lords, their delegations, my family, my friends, everyone I cared about, and the most powerful Fae in Prythian – taunted me, mingling in turn with each other like the ebb and flow of the sea. I wanted to hear the gossip, wanted to be a part of the politicking I knew was invariably happening downstairs. I wanted to know why Helion made a beeline for the Lady of the Autumn Court when she arrived and why Varian seemed to be avoiding Amren. I wanted to know what whispers passed between the Spring Court High Fae presumptuous enough to approach the High Lords. I wanted to know why the hall fell silent when Tamlin appeared in the grand archway that served as the entrance to the Great Hall.

But I had an answer for that one. The silence was not for Tamlin, but for me. Because with all the High Lords gathered downstairs, the only piece missing was me.

It was time for my entrance.

I nodded to Alis, and she helped me remove the satin robe I’d worn to protect my dress from stains. I shivered as a breeze hit the exposed skin of my bare shoulders, then threw them back and lifted my chin. The cold would not bother me.

I squeezed Alis’s hands in farewell.

My guards flanked me as I made my way down the hallway. Each step was firm, slow but deliberate. This time, I didn’t flinch when I walked past the portraits of the former Lords Douglass.

The High Fae at the entrance to the Great Hall sank into a deep bow before me, so low I could see the top of his head. I bid him to rise. He did.

Then, he cleared his throat and threw open the doors.

The music stopped as he began to announce me.

“Feyre Archeron of Prythian, the Cursebreaker, Lieutenant General of the Spring Court Military, High Lady of the Spring Court.”

I did not plaster a demure smile to my face as I had last time I met with the High Lords. I did not hesitate to meet their eyes, their harsh gazes.

Instead, I let loose my aura, spring-tinged moonlight flaring around me. I placed one foot in front of the other as I descended the staircase, using wisps of air to keep me from teetering in my delicate heels. I descended alone, no High Lord, no _male_ at my side.

Instead of a smile, I fixed the High Lords with a stare of defiance, daring them to speak out against me or my title.

I was not a simpering pet. I was a gods-damned High Lady.

And if there was ever a dress to prove it, this was the one.

It had arrived two days ago in an unmarked package. But though unmarked, I didn’t need to read the accompanying letter to know who it was from. For there was only one person who would send me a gown as exquisite as this.

My mate’s mother must have been able to see into the future. She must have known that my allegiance would be twofold, my soul a duality of Night and Spring. She must have been a truly incredible female to have made such a gown for me.

I wished I had known her.

As I had chosen the jasmine flower as my sigil, signifying my loyalty to both the Night and the Spring Courts, so too did the dress match my sigil. In it, I became a jasmine blossom. Fashioned from a material as soft as a flower petal, the just barely off-white dress wrapped around me the way petals would wrap against the bud of a flower, molding itself to my body. It flared out past my knees, and a small train extended behind me, delicate without being fragile.

I wore no jewelry to detract from the effect of the dress. No crown, as my aura would speak for itself. No jewels, as I needed no display of wealth. No diamond ring, as I refused to allow anyone to believe I owed my title to Tamlin. He had given it to me, but it had not been his words nor his magic that had made me High Lady of the Spring Court. I was High Lady because I had worked for it, and because I had devoted myself to this court.

The chatter in the hall had ceased. All eyes were on me.

But I had eyes for only one.

The High Lords had made a semicircle at the bottom of the staircase to receive me. And at one end, my mate stood steadfast. Dressed in a jacket and pants of the darkest black, Rhys was a mirror of the first time I’d met him on Calanmai so long ago. He stood utterly still, easy in his sensual grace, and faint tendrils of night pressed in around him. His dark hair gleamed like raven’s feathers. His eyes of the deepest violet twinkled with amusement. 

There was no sign of the distraught male from a few nights ago. He wore his usual mask of a casual, composed, arrogant High Lord, but I could feel light and warmth from behind that wall of black adamant down the bond. Ever so slightly, I brushed up against it. A gentle knock.

 _Hi_ , I told him tentatively.

A moment passed. I descended another step, then another.

Then, just as I began to worry I had terribly misjudged our reconciliation, a crack opened in the black adamant.

 _Hello_. His voice was smooth, and it caressed the length of my spine. That voice, that sensual purr…

I narrowed my eyes at him, both to keep at bay the heat threatening to flood my cheeks and to maintain the cover of our relationship. Now was not the time for talking. That we would do later, when we were alone.

Now was the time to face the High Lords.

My heels clicked as they landed on the marble floor. The High Lords stood arrayed before me, decked in their finest and haloed by their own auras. They did not smile, just stared at me with faces like stone.

I didn’t know the purpose of their arrangement, and I didn’t dare ask. It seemed vaguely ceremonial, though I knew no ceremony was required for the installation of a High Lord. The title did not need validation from the other courts. My gender did nothing to change that fact.

As one, the High Lords clasped hands. Tamlin and Rhys, at either end, each extended a hand toward me.

I did not hesitate. I took them, grasping Tamlin with the twisting iridescent vines of my left hand and Rhys with the hidden black whorls of my right.

We did no more than touch hands, but just the feel of Rhys’s skin against mine was intoxicating. I couldn’t gaze up at him, not without ruining our deception. Instead, I breathed in his scent and reveled in it.

My revelry did not last long, though. The moment the eight of us were linked, a spark coursed through me. The hall around us became fuzzy and dull, and the guests around us appeared to slow, as if we were in a sphere outside the limitations of time.

We were linked, somehow. I could feel their consciousnesses more sharply, more potently. Kallias was a glacier ready to flatten anything in its path. Helion simmered with the secrets of the world and a light that shone brighter than any star. And Beron…

He spoke before I had the chance to do anything more than acknowledge that vengeful fire across the circle from me.

“We have never had a female among our ranks before.”

Both Tamlin and Rhys’s hands tightened on mine. I would have found it comical, had my heart beat a touch slower.

But Beron’s words worried me. Though he held no power within the Spring Court – nor the Night, for that matter – his age gave him influence among the High Lords. I did not know what would happen if he refused to accept me.

He stared at me for another long moment before continuing. “It appears there is more to you than meets the eye, High Lady.”

And then, he dipped his head toward me in the shallowest of bows.

Relief hit me so hard my heart nearly stopped. Beside me, Rhys squeezed my hand and held firm as the emotion sent me into a shallow sway. Tamlin didn’t notice my unsteadiness, nor did he notice how tightly I clung to Rhys.

Around us, outside our insular sphere, the High Fae continued to move languidly. A lock of hair nervously tucked behind an ear lasted a minute, a covert greeting two.

In that space of time, the other High Lords followed Beron’s lead and welcomed me. Kallias and Thesan’s were among the friendlier welcomes; Tarquin was more reserved.

“It’s about damn time” was Helion’s response, and I wondered toward whom the ice in his tone was directed. He knew of my allegiance to the Night Court – would he leverage the information against me and Rhys? I could only hope that his friendship with our Inner Circle was enough to keep him silent on the matter.

Rhys’s only response was to lift the hand of mine he held and kiss it slowly. I struggled to keep my expression toward him disapproving, especially as I felt Tamlin’s surge of anger on my other side.

Tamlin needed provide no response, but I think Rhys’s forwardness grated against him too much not to respond too. “It will be my life’s greatest joy for us rule the Spring Court side-by-side.”

I had to suppress a laugh.

With affirmation from the High Lords, I felt our power swell within each of us, as if magic itself wanted to welcome me. It twisted around us, ice and fire, wind and water, night and dark and that which lives in-between. The sphere was illuminated, and for a moment it was so bright I had to close my eyes. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the magic reached a crescendo. As the tendrils rushed back toward their masters, a sliver from each broke off and entered me. And maybe it was my imagination, but I could have sworn that when my magic returned, I received more than a kernel from each of the High Lords.

When our magics settled, our hands dropped from each other, the hazy sphere breaking along with our contact. Only Tamlin and I remained connected, and the High Lords parted before us to reveal the two gilded thrones atop the dais at the other end of the Great Hall.

The movements of the guests had returned to their normal pace, but they stayed where they were, eyes fixed on me and Tamlin as we made our way to the thrones. Filled with newfound confidence – from the High Lords’ acceptance or from my heightened powers, I didn’t know – our progress was steadier than my journey down the staircase had been.

The thrones were wholly dissimilar from Rhys’s throne in the Hewn City, gilded in gold and cushioned in plush green velvet, rather than crafted from beasts of polished ebony. Yet as we climbed the dais and I turned to sit, I couldn’t help but to imagine that throne, and what Rhys and I had done when we had shared it.

I caught his eyes from across the room, and the look he shot me was so scandalous I knew he had to be imagining the same. I struggled to hold back a laugh.

My eyes scanned the crowd. The Spring Court High Fae in lavish gowns that billowed around them; the High Lords and their delegations; Tamlin’s and my guards falling in rank at the base of the dais; the Generals hanging back at the edges of the room, ready to leap in at any sign of trouble; Ianthe trying and failing not to let her all-consuming envy show on her face; Mor and Amren, the former in a regal dress of the deepest purple and the latter dressed for the first time since I’d known her in a gown, sleek and grey. When my eyes met theirs, they gave no sign of recognition or affection. Devoted to our deception to the end.

“Thank you for coming,” I said simply to the assembled guests. “Enjoy the ball.”

I did not waver as I took my seat upon the gilded throne.


	43. Chapter 43

I was giddy. My fingers and toes tingled. I could barely keep from smiling like a girl just barely old enough to attend her first party.

Well, this _was_ my first formal party – if I wasn’t counting Starfall, which I didn’t, as Night Court social protocol wasn’t a tenth as strict as that of the Spring Court. But I wasn’t nervous. My anxiety had begun to seep from me after Beron’s acceptance, and by the time I took my seat on the dais, not a hint of it remained.

I had done it. I was the High Lady of the Spring Court. No lies, no deception clouded that title. The Spring Court, all of Prythian – even the human lands, most likely – knew of it. I still hid a part of myself from the world, but with this allegiance exposed, I could breathe easier. No longer did I have to watch my every word, my every move.

I had fought for my title, had nearly lost my mate over it. But now, the fighting was over. The pain was over. I had paid the price. And now I damn well deserved to enjoy it.

The musicians started up again, striking up a brisk waltz with a precision gained only by years – no, _decades_ – of training. I hadn’t noticed them before, a small choir of stringed instruments to one side of the Great Hall, and I realized they must have stopped when I entered. I smiled at the thought.

I lasted all of three dances before I was itching to join the party.

Douglass’s wife had done a wondrous job planning the ball. Thousands of tiny jasmine flowers, in my honor, had been sewn into garlands that wrapped around the marble columns that lined the Great Hall. The marble floor, staircase, and ornamentation had been polished so thoroughly they gleamed in the light of the magnificent chandelier hanging in the center of the hall, rows and rows of crystals strung precariously together.

I didn’t see Douglass himself, and without his shadow looming over her, his wife seemed to come alive. She wore a dress of the palest green that matched her eyes. The fabric too glinted in the candlelight, and her grey-threaded blonde waves hung loose over her shoulders. It seemed that tonight, we all let our hair down a bit.

I cast across my imagination for an opportunity to join the dancing without tarnishing the stoic image I had crafted with my entrance. Truly, all I wanted was to dance with Rhys, but I knew I would find no suitable excuse for that. I was resigned to spend little time with him tonight, especially as I planned to return to Velaris in the morning.

But that didn’t mean that I didn’t want to be a part of the fun on the floor below. I wanted to dance, regardless of how unsteady I was in these heels. I wanted the chance to speak with Tarquin, to probe how deep his forgiveness over what we’d done in Adriata went. I wanted to remind Helion to keep my secret just until the ball was over.

I did not, however, want to dance with Tamlin. We still hadn’t spoken, even as we sat side-by-side and watched our guests. If I could get away with it, I planned not to speak with him until I departed in the morning.

But asking him to dance seemed the easiest excuse to join the party.

I was weighing my disgust at Tamlin versus remaining left out of the fun when I spotted a table against the wall opposite the musicians. Stretched from one of the hall to the other, it was laden with dainty canapes, platters of cheeses and thinly sliced meats, jams and smoked nuts, and a massive crystal bowl filled with wine and berries. Looking at the table set my stomach twisting in hunger, and I knew I had found the perfect opportunity to join the ball.

Just as I was prepared to stand and venture toward the table, one of our guards brought sparkling wine for me and Tamlin. I cursed inwardly that my plan had been foiled, but the wine soothed my impatience for a few minutes. As I sipped it, I studied the drama in the hall below.

The celebration was as different from the Solstice celebration at the war camp as the pretentious High Fae were from the dedicated faerie soldiers.

The High Fae from all courts had gone back to mingling with each other, chatting and selecting partners for each dance. I watched the pairings with envy and curiosity.

Beron’s sons strutted around the ball as if the party was in their honor. I looked for Lucien to see how he was handling the appearance of his brothers, but I couldn’t find him amongst the fray. A flock of Spring Court High Fae females surrounded them, and I wondered which party would be successful in manipulating the other – the cruel Autumn Court lords or the scheming High Fae debutantes. In the end, I believe it was Beron’s sons who had the upper hand, for none of them danced with the same female twice.

Tarquin and Helion, the two bachelor High Lords, likewise attracted many females, from all courts. Helion flitted between partners for every dance, but not before wholly enchanting each of them with his nimble, sensuous steps. Tarquin politely declined most of the females who asked him to dance, preferring instead to remain for most of the night with a young lithe female from the Dawn Court.

Kallias and Vivienne made a beautiful couple, twirling gracefully to any tune the musicians played. Thesan and his lover did not take to the dance floor, but they spent the evening huddled together against one of the marble columns that lined the hall.

I bristled when I saw Rhys guide Cresseida to the floor, place a hand on her delicate waist, and pull her close enough to get a good look at her ample cleavage. I gave that wall of black adamant a sharp shove to remind him that I watched his movements. All I got in return was a deep chuckle down the bond.

As a distraction, I turned my gaze toward Mor and Amren, situated on the outskirts of the hall. I was surprised to find Mor not at the center of the party, or at least not chatting with Helion, given how friendly the two of them had been earlier. But then a handsome male from the Day Court approached Mor and asked her to dance. Before she had the chance to reply, though, he hastily backed away, nearly tripping over his feet. Mor turned to Amren and shot her a look of outrage. I didn’t need to be next to them to interpret their conversation.

“Why do you have to scare them away like that?”

Amren just shrugged. “You always say Day Court males are bad in bed.”

Mor threw her hands in the air. “At least I’m not avoiding the only male who’s not completely terrified of me.”

“Oh, Varian is completely terrified of me,” Amren said with a small smile. “Yet his curiosity seems stronger.” She paused. “And I am _not_ avoiding him. I am giving him space.”

Mor opened her mouth to retort when another male, a member of the Winter Court delegation, approached her. She grabbed his arm and began pulling him toward the floor before he had the chance to ask her to dance – and before Amren could scare off another dance partner.

Eventually, Varian did work up the courage to approach Amren, and I nearly cackled at the predatory look she gave him before accepting his offer to dance.

Ianthe prowled around the Great Hall in shimmery robes that clung to her body a bit too tightly than one might think proper for a holy priestess. But she had never been a strict adherent to propriety.

Her presence had the reverse effect that Helion, Tarquin, and Beron’s sons had – she had her own coterie of males gathered about her, none of which was granted more than a single dance, sometimes even less. I watched as a fumbling Summer Court guest stumbled half a step and she turned on her heel mid-stride, leaving him alone on the floor in the middle of a song.

Cauldron burn me, I hated the female, but I had to appreciate her uncompromising attitude toward males.

The Generals were all but ignored by the partygoers, but none of them seemed to mind. Celis stood in the shadow of the grand staircase, clearly unamused by the politicking and wishing she could be back at the war camp. Alistair was stationed near the musicians, in a small alcove along the wall. He looked like he wanted to melt into the wall, and I didn’t blame him. Had I been in his position, I would have despised being among so many pretentious High Fae. Despite his discomfort, though, he bore their disdainful looks at his wings and the color of his skin with poise.

Opposite the hall from Alistair, Liv seemed less bothered by the estrangement. She kept an eye on the table laden with canapes, charcuterie, and wine to make sure none tampered with it. It was an overly cautious move, in my opinion, but I trusted her years of experience and left her to it.

I was so busy studying the Generals that I didn’t notice a figure had approached the dais until I heard the rasping of the guards’ swords as they drew them. To protect me and Tamlin, I presumed. But I couldn’t imagine any of the guests would be stupid enough to try to harm us in our own lands, where the Spring Court population greatly outnumbered that of all the other courts combined. Where the Spring Court legions were prepared for war just a short distance away.

And then I recognized the figure.

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that Rhys had the audacity to approach me in public.

“Come now, those are far from necessary,” he said, indicating the guards’ drawn swords. They made no move to lower them.

“What do you want, Rhysand?” Tamlin’s tone was steel.

The room had fallen silent, the dancers pausing to witness this encounter, straining to hear Rhys’s next words.

Tamlin’s tone didn’t faze him. In the same nonchalant manner, he said, “I want to speak with the High Lady.” Rhys turned toward me. With a flourish, he swept one arm behind his back and bowed at the waist. “May I have this dance?”

From her spot at the edge of the hall, I saw Liv begin to make their way toward me. I appreciated her worry, but it was unwarranted.

I stood. I heard my blood rushing through me, and I hoped the guests believed my flushed cheeks to be a sign of nerves, rather than excitement.

Tamlin made to grab my arm, but I brushed him aside. “I will not be a coward,” I said to pacify him. I was supposed to be afraid of Rhys, after all.

My eyes did not leave my mate’s as I descended the dais, nor as I bid the guards to lower their swords.

He had one hand outstretched toward me. I let mine shake just slightly as I took it.

As it had before me and Tamlin, the crowd parted as Rhys led me to the floor. No one said a word. The air was heavy with tension, the silence so complete that my heels clicking against the polished marble echoed throughout the hall.

My hand rested lightly on his, the barest whisper of a touch. But where our fingers did meet, they were set aflame.

He kept his gaze fixed before him. I reluctantly did the same.

And perhaps it was that – because I wasn’t facing his penetrating stare – that I worked up the courage to touch his mind.

_I’m sorry_ , I told him. Next to me, his back stiffened ever so slightly, but he continued to guide us forward at a languid pace. _For everything. My words, my actions. Abandoning my duty to the Night Court, to Velaris, to you–_

He cut me off so viciously I nearly tripped. _Stop. Don’t you dare…_ he paused, and when he spoke again, his tone had lost its heat. _It is I who must apologize to you. What I tried to do, what I almost did – it’s inexcusable. I understand if you never want to see me again after tonight._

If we didn’t have an audience, I would have whacked him upside the head. _Idiot! Why did you think I invited you tonight? Why do you think I’m wearing this dress – your mother’s dress? Why do you think I agreed to dance with you?_

We stopped in the center of the hall. My heart rattled in my chest as I turned toward him.

I repeated the words I had told him what seemed like a lifetime ago. _I see you, Rhys. I see you all of you, the good and the bad, the dark and the light. I see you, and I love you. Nothing will ever change that._

I held his gaze. _Nothing will ever make me stop loving you._

Rhys released my arm and took a step back, sluggishly, as if time weighed heavily upon us. He didn’t respond, but his eyes glinted in the candlelight. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he bowed again, somber this time. I mirrored him, dipping into a low, formal curtsy.

As he straightened, a shadow of a smile played on his lips.

_I love you, too._

Then, time crashed back into us with full force.

Rhys stepped toward me again. His hand found my waist and drew me to him, closer than Cresseida had been. He held me firm, as if he planned never to let me go. His fingers played against my ribcage. His breath, hot on my neck, nearly sent me over the edge.

I gazed up at him, my beautiful, selfless mate. There were just inches between us – a tilt of his head would bring our lips together.

The musicians began to play.

I thought I had danced with Rhys during Starfall. I was wrong.

This – _this ­_ was dancing.

Never before had I felt the true weight of the centuries of my mate’s years until now. Because each step he took was an instinct, a reflex that bespoke thousands of dances before. His typical lithe grace was magnified under the lens of the dance so that each movement flowed seamlessly into the next. He was confident, every step sure and uncompromising. He did not need to look at his feet, nor at the floor, nor at the guests who had all gathered at the edge of the floor, emptying the space for me and Rhys. He looked at me, and only me.

And, perhaps the greatest testament to his skill: where he led, I did not falter. I held his gaze, held those violet eyes with my clear blue ones, and I did not fall.

The waltz swelled, and we twirled round and round. We spun across the entire floor of the hall in precise, fluid circles. My dress swept out around me, and my curls swayed in time to our movements.

We could not talk to each other, could not smile or intimately touch in so public a setting. But with my eyes locked on his, all those restrictions seemed to fall away. The world had narrowed to just the two of us. The two of us, the music, and the dance. I lost myself in it – in _him_. In my mate, who was with me now after so long apart. Now, and always.

Always.

I rubbed my thumb against the back of his hand. _It’s time_ , I told him. _I’m coming home_. _After tonight, after the ball, I’m coming home._

At that, the High Lord of the Night Court, with centuries of training and experience, nearly stumbled.

 _Are you sure?_ he asked.

_I have never been more certain of anything in my life._

For my sake, he did not smile. But behind his eyes, happiness glowed. His steps grew stronger, faster, and the two of us continued to twirl on and on.

♦♦♦

I floated down the corridor below the Great Hall. My feet didn’t touch the ground – or at least, if they did, I could not feel it.

I had come downstairs to be alone, just for a moment. To unleash my hidden smile before it revealed itself among the crowd and my deception along with it. To be alone and bask in my happiness.

Because for the first time in I didn’t know how long, I was happy. Everything had fallen into place.

Rhys and I were reconciled.

I was the High Lady of Night and Spring.

Tomorrow, I would return home.

I was so caught up in my giddiness that I nearly tripped over a pile of clothes in the middle of the corridor.

I moved to sidestep, when I noticed the figure within the clothes. He lay on his side, hunched inward, knees to chest.

A partygoer who had indulged a bit too heavily in the wine. From my days as a human, I remembered how potent faerie wine could be. Or rather, I _didn’t_ remember.

I crouched down to rouse the male, perhaps bring him back to the party so his friends could care for him.

First, I recognized his Spring Court dress uniform, the usually crisp black pants rumpled by his hunched position.

Then, I recognized his fire-kissed auburn hair, hidden by the arm over his head.

Finally, I recognized the puckered scar and metal gadget where an eye should have been.

Lucien.

A flash of annoyance hit me. So this is where he’d been when he hadn’t been at the ball – drinking himself to unconsciousness.

I studied him. He looked like he was sleeping. I put a hand on his shoulder to rouse him. I shook him gently, called his name.

“Lucien,” I said. “Lucien, wake up. Let’s get you back to the camp.” I moved to turn him on his back, and his arm slipped from my grasp to land dully on the cold floor. He did not react, did not twitch. He made no move at all.

“Lucien.” I shook his shoulders. “Lucien.” Another shake. “Lucien.”

Nothing. He did not wake.

Not a move, not a sound, not a glimmer of life.

Not even so much as the rise and fall of his chest, nor breath that should have passed through his slightly parted lips.

“LUCIEN,” I screamed at him. I shoved his body, pounded his chest with my fists. Something, anything, that would wake him. “LUCIEN.”

My voice cracked, and hot tears stained his shirt.

“HELP!” I yelled down the corridor. “SOMEBODY HELP!”

I cast my gaze in either direction. There was no sign of anyone. No boots clicked against the floor.

Then, from the corner of my eye, movement caught my attention. A crimson light dotted my tear-blurred vision. Ianthe, with that damned bloodred ruby – I was never happier to see her in my life.

But the light drew no nearer. It wasn’t Ianthe.

I rubbed at my eyes, smudging away tears to get a better look.

The light shone through a window, cut high into the stone wall. It came from the night sky, like some sort of fiery star…

No, not a star.

For the first time all night, the clouds had cleared to reveal the moon.

It had risen.

It was full.

It was red. 

The Blood Moon.


	44. Chapter 44

The war camp was silent. There was no sign that it had been home to thousands of soldiers for a month. No chatter could be heard, no clatter of swords against one another. No children ran through the camp playing at one of their games. Nothing filled the air but the solemn clouds above. Even the forest around us had gone quiet, the wind refusing to rustle leaves and the animals refusing to scuttle about, lest they break the crisp afternoon silence.

It had been two days since the Blood Moon took Lucien. I, too, was silent as I stood in the heart of the war camp. Behind me, the soldiers filled the training area in neat rows.

As I watched, a handful of faeries glided among the ranks, touching each of the soldiers. As the faeries passed, a wave crashed over the soldiers: the sea of uniforms turned from green to a dull black. One moment, the field was vibrant. In the next, it was stoic, morose.

Today, we were not lively. Today, we mourned.

I would mourn for some time yet.

I wore black myself, a simple dress with sleeves cut above the wrists, just barely brushing the grass at my feet. My hair was twisted into a loose bun at the nape of my neck. I couldn’t bring myself to summon another ounce of effort toward my appearance.

Once the field had become a mass of black, the faeries passed around a shallow bowl of dark ash. One by one, each of the soldiers dipped a finger in the bowl, then drew the finger across their face, creating a deep line across one eye from brow to jaw. A solemn homage to Lucien and the scar that had marred his otherwise handsome face.

When the bowl came to my hands, I marked myself with ash and, wishing I could do more than honor the token my friend had received at the hands of Amarantha, passed it along to the next faerie.

Soft footsteps sounded on the grass, and as one, the soldiers parted to reveal Tamlin and the Generals. They were across the field from me, nearly at the forest. They, as well, were dressed only in black, and their faces had been marked with ash.

A long shape rested on the ground at their feet. Together, they grasped hold of it and lifted it onto their shoulders. No struggle shone on their faces as they bore the weight of Lucien’s funeral bier.

Tamlin and the Generals began walking toward where I stood at the center of the field, slowly making their way down the aisle the soldiers had formed. My gaze remained on them as they approached. I doubt I would have been able to tear it away had I tried.

Each step they took was slow, but solid. They did not show discomfort or strain or fatigue.

They did not falter, even as the clouds above unleashed a steady drizzle of rain.

Within the minute, I was soaked. My dress clung to my skin. Wisps of hair stuck to my face, my neck. Around me, the soldiers were similarly drenched, the heavy cloth of their jackets holding the water at bay for only a small while longer than my dress had. But neither I nor the soldiers moved from our stations.

Nor did Tamlin and the Generals halt their progress until they reached the massive pyre at the center of the field.

Branches and firewood had been stacked twice as tall as me. It was the traditional funeral rite within the Autumn Court. It was what Lucien would have wanted. Not the ties to his family, but to the fire.

As Tamlin and the others hoisted the bier onto the pyre, I caught one last glimpse of my friend. Had I looked only at half his face, I would have thought him peaceful. His one eye was closed, and his cheeks were smooth. But on the other half of his face, his metal eye stared forward dully. The eerie animation it had always borne was no more. Now, it was just metal.

In his hands, he held his sword. _His_ sword – the jeweled one he’d worn when I first met him, rather than the standard-issue Military one he’d taken to carrying since we’d begun to prepare for war.

He had been dressed in his Military uniform. Not the dress uniform, that had always itched at him, but the green one that fit him like a second skin.

Since I’d known him, he’d only worn it for a few weeks. But in that small period of time, that uniform had become forever associated with him in my eyes. It was a symbol of his loyalty, his tenacity, his devotion. His bravery.

There were new pins on the jacket to signify that bravery.

I stepped forward and laid a hand against the wood, damp from the rain. It took only a heartbeat to summon a spark.

 _Goodbye, Lucien_.

It landed on the wood, caught hold, and the pyre burst into flames.

The fire reached toward the sky, fighting against the clouds, refusing to be extinguished by the rain. It was Lucien’s spirit, somehow. He had become one with the fire. I could tell, could see my friend among the flames as they writhed in the air. From fire he had been born, and to fire he returned.

It was fitting, though not simply for his Autumn Court heritage.

Lucien had had a fire that lived within him, a fire that Tamlin and many others in the Spring Court lacked. A fire, similar to the one that had driven me into the frost-bitten woods each morning to hunt for my father and sisters. A fire like the one that burned within Rhys and Mor and Amren and Cassian and Azriel. The fire of a dreamer.

And I wondered if he might have belonged in the Court of Dreams, after all.

Above, a small break in the clouds revealed the traitorous moon. It was still near-full, though it had returned to a pale ivory, no tint of crimson remaining. Water stained my vision as I looked up and cursed it.

As if in response, clouds darkened, concealing the moon once again. The drizzle became a barrage. The wind, silent and respectful until now, began to howl. It heaved its weight against me, trying as it could to topple me. The rain spat at me, each fat drop landing like a blow to my body.

The water felt good on my skin. Cleansing.

The blows felt good, too. 

I didn’t blame myself for Lucien’s death, not entirely. But I couldn’t help but wonder whether his death might have been avoided. Had I not insisted on the ball, had I not so selfishly disregarded his absence when I didn’t spot him in the crowd, had I not dismissed Liv’s warnings about the Blood Moon...

Would I have been able to prevent it? I didn’t think so. Not even I had the power to command the moon or the stars.

But had I gotten to Lucien just a few moments earlier, would I have been able to heal him, to stop the Blood Moon from taking him?

The question nagged at me, pulling at my insides as the wind and the rain tore at my exterior.

The manner of his death was still unknown. As far as I knew, there had been no witnesses and no suspects. It might not even have been committed by Fae, but perhaps the strange magic of the Blood Moon had simply commanded his death. There had been no marks upon his body, no sign of injury or a struggle. Lucien’s body had been left pristine, however the Blood Moon had taken his life, whether one if its agents had enacted its will or whether it had simply sucked the soul from his body.

The thought sent a troubling picture through my mind, of Lucien grinning his foxlike grin only to have the expression fade until his face wore no expression at all. A shell of a male, where just moments before had stood my friend.

Before me, the fire raged on, undaunted by the downpour. The heat warmed my face while the rain chilled my body.

I had been incoherent when the Generals found me huddled over Lucien. They tried to move me, but they were unable to pry my arms from him. So they stayed with me throughout the night.

One of them must have left to report to Tamlin, for far above, I felt the consciousnesses of the party guests disappear. They left in the way water trickles from rivers into the sea – slowly at first, then in a great wave.

I barely registered the moment I could no longer sense Mor and Amren’s consciousnesses, followed shortly thereafter by Rhys’s.

I wondered only later if they had been waiting for me, from my promise to return home after the ball. After all the promises I had broken in the last few weeks, I should have known I wouldn’t have been able to keep this one, either.

But my concern for Rhys and the Night Court was a petty annoyance in light of the Blood Moon – in light of Lucien’s death. They would understand. They would get along fine without me for a while longer. My presence wasn’t needed just yet.

Sometime during the night, Ianthe came belowground to see Lucien’s body for herself. She was calm, magnanimous. Her complexion was smooth, a conspicuous counterpoint to my tear-streaked cheeks.

I accused her for it, for her leaden heart that couldn’t be bothered to mourn for our friend.

“We should all be grateful,” she had said in response, “That the Blood Moon desired only one sacrifice this time. We should pray to the gods for their mercy.”

Celis and Liv had to hold me back so that I didn’t tear out her throat with teeth that had unwittingly sharpened to razor points. “Lucien is _dead_ ,” I spat at her. “The only mercy we’ve been granted is that it left you alive so I can kill you myself.”

She was unruffled, even mildly amused. She let out a small, patronizing laugh. “What words from a High Lady.”

My anger raged violently. I flung Celis and Liv from me and stalked toward Ianthe, thrusting out a fist that ended in claws and pinning her to the wall. Bricks rattled in their holdings as the corridor shook with the impact. Bits of rock and dust fell from the ceiling.

“This is your fault,” I hissed. My face was an inch from hers. “You said there was time – that it wouldn’t come until tomorrow night.” I bared those sharpened teeth. “You _lied_.”

In truth, I didn’t know whether Ianthe had deliberately led us astray, supplied us with a false date for the Blood Moon to serve her own amusement, or whether her calculations had simply been wrong. But at that accusation, she finally had the sense to look worried. Smugness melted into uncertainty, then apprehension, then terror. And then, strangely, relief.

I felt a strange prickling at the back of my head, then I was falling. 

I had awoken in my bed at the Douglass estate near midday the next day, though the sun was concealed by a haze of grey clouds. I hadn’t risen since, not until the funeral.

Celis stopped by every few hours to bring me company that I didn’t need, food that I didn’t want, and an apology for subduing me around Ianthe that I didn’t care to hear.

That was all the contact I had had for the last two days. I wasn’t close with Alistair, and Liv wasn’t the type to outpour her emotions, so I hadn’t been surprised by their absences. Ianthe certainly did not check in on me – she wasn’t even here at the funeral, though I found it difficult to believe my outburst had been so intimidating that she would miss the funeral to avoid me.

But now, standing in the rain shoulder-to-shoulder with Tamlin, I wondered why he hadn’t come to see me. Not that I would have wanted to see him – not that I ever wanted to see him again. But Lucien had been his closest friend. I could only imagine how distraught Tamlin must be – more so than me, even. I would have expected, in his mourning, that he might have sought to mourn with me, if he still held such a stifling love for me.

I suppose he preferred to mourn alone. As I did. As I had done.

Now, battered by wind and rain, my mourning was not over. It would take a while still until I could begin to reconcile myself to Lucien’s death, to the fact that I would never see him again.

Never again would I spend another night drinking with him. Never again would we wake before dawn to train, the only two awake as sleep stilled the war camp. Never again would he tease me over my title, and never again would I tease him over his attempts at pretentiousness. Never again would we bicker over trivialities. Never again would we trade stories of our tumultuous histories. Never again would we discuss unease over our shared family tensions. Never again would I have a friend like him, who understood me in ways no other did.

Never again would I hear his laugh.

The fire continued to burn, and I could have sworn I heard that laugh in the crackle of the flames.

I did not leave the pyre until the last ember was extinguished by rain.


	45. Chapter 45

_Two Days Ago_

The Great Hall turned into a madhouse the moment Tamlin announced the Blood Moon’s appearance. Guests shoved their way to the windows, to see for themselves the ugly crimson sphere hanging just above the forest line. Others dashed up the staircase, tripping over each other in their attempt to get to the exit as quickly as they could.

It might have been amusing to watch dignitaries from all courts debase themselves so, under different circumstances.

But, circumstances being what they were, he contented himself to wait for the rush to die down before making his own exit.

Mor and Amren had the same idea, joining him where he was leaning against one of the garish marble columns that lined the hall.

He tried not to judge the Spring Court High Fae for their gaudy taste, but they reminded him a bit too much of the High Fae at the Hewn City for him to not harbor animosity toward them. Scheming, pandering, simpering. He’d rebuffed more of them tonight than he could count. Sometimes, it had been a struggle to remain polite. The Spring Court High Fae could be _quite_ aggressive.

“Where is she?” Mor asked him, mumbling the words quietly into her wine. With panic gripping the hall so tightly, it was likely none paid them much attention, but one could never be certain where enemy court ears were hidden.

“Still downstairs,” he said. Something felt wrong with Feyre’s consciousness – she was distraught, far more so than he might have expected given the appearance of the Blood Moon. He wanted to go to her, but the Spring Court Generals were with her, and it had been too long since he’d spoken with Elivya and the Falconer to judge how they would react to his presence.

Already, he worried that he’d overstepped with their dance. The look on Tamlin’s face as he had guided Feyre to the floor, as he had held her close and spun her across the hall… perhaps they _should_ try to make a timely exit.

But he hadn’t been able to help himself, seeing his mate on that throne in his mother’s dress, her aura writhing around her as if straining to escape and conquer the hall. And especially after their fight, he had needed to speak with her. So he had damned the consequences and asked her to dance.

“We can’t wait forever,” said Amren. “The other courts have already left.”

He looked around and found she was right. The guests had thinned significantly, and only a few Spring Court High Fae were left pushing their way up the staircase. He didn’t want to leave Feyre behind, but she was more than capable of making her way back to Velaris on her own.

In his hand, his glass of wine was still untouched. He downed half of it in one go and left the rest on the banquet table.

He turned back to Mor and Amren, ready to leave, but as he turned, he felt his head spin. A familiar, sickly feeling crept up his spine. His magic began to leech away from him.

 _Cauldron burn me, not again_.

“Go on ahead. I’ll wait a just a little longer for her,” he told Mor and Amren, careful to conceal a grimace as a wave of nausea passed over him. Neither of them showed signs of faebane poisoning, and he didn’t want them dragged into whatever game Tamlin was playing. For this most certainly was Tamlin’s doing.

Mor narrowed her eyes at him, and for a second, he thought she had noticed his unsteadiness. But then Amren tugged on her arm, and Mor let herself be dragged up the staircase.

As the two of them left, the heavy gilded doors to the hall were pulled closed by a unit of those preternatural High Fae guards Tamlin and Feyre kept. It was a deliberate move, then. Interesting.

He had only a sliver of his magic left, and he used the last of it in a sloppy, unsuccessful attempt to winnow from the hall. Then it was gone, along with the consciousness at the other end of the bond.

From his periphery, he saw more guards file in on either side of the hall. So this was how it was going to go.

He gritted his teeth and turned. He only barely managed to remain upright.

Tamlin sat atop his throne at the end of the hall, eyes fixed on him. The other throne was conspicuously empty. He was smiling, and his teeth gleamed in the candlelight.

“Bring him forward,” he commanded.

The guards on either side of the hall stalked toward him. They gripped his arms and pulled him toward the dais. He tried to shake them off, but the drug had left him weak, and he could not.

“Is this really necessary, Tamlin?” he asked as the guards deposited him at the base of the dais. Unable to get his hands below him quickly enough, he fell hard, his knees making a distinct crack against the marble that echoed throughout the hall.

He made sure to tint his tone with his typical mask of arrogant annoyance. He would not give Tamlin the satisfaction of seeing him worry. He wasn’t sure there was need for worry, not yet.

“You do not get to speak.” The words were precisely articulated, sharpened like knives.

Perhaps he should rethink his previous statement. Perhaps there was need for worry.

For up close, he could see Tamlin’s expression. And it was unlike anything the male had ever displayed.

It was a wonder he hadn’t given himself over entirely to the form of the golden beast that prowled just beneath his skin. Rage – wild, animalistic rage – morphed his features into something not quite Fae. Tamlin’s eyes were so wide, he could see white circling around the entire amber irises. His pointed ears were flattened back against his skull like a feral hound. The arms of the throne had been shredded by claws that emerged and retreated in rapid succession.

The male had always been unstable, but he found it hard to believe that his dance with Feyre had effected such anger within him.

“Did you truly think you would get away with it?”

“I don’t know–”

A blow cracked against the back of his head, sending him sprawling. The guards behind him chuckled as he pushed himself back to his knees.

“Don’t you _dare_ pretend innocence.” Tamlin leaned forward. His eyes were rabid. “Don’t. You. _Dare_.”

The High Priestess appeared at Tamlin’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. As she straightened, he saw her rub at her neck, as if it had been bruised. She fixed him with… he couldn’t read the look. It seemed as if she was attempting to hold back an air of satisfaction.

Yes, she would get enjoyment out of seeing him like this.

She lifted her chin. “Lucien Vanserra is dead.”

A chill ran over him, and he knew her next words before she said them.

“You killed him.”

 _By the damned Cauldron_.

He discarded his mask of arrogance and traded it for sincerity. “Tamlin, I–”

“SILENCE,” he roared as another blow crashed against him.

This time, when he tried to push himself up, he found a weight on his back keeping him pinned to the ground. With his face against marble, he heard footsteps as Tamlin descended from the dais. Boots appeared in his line of sight just before he was yanked up. Tamlin held him by the hair, face pressed close to his own.

His face was a portrait of icy fury, and when he spoke, his near-whisper brimmed with rage.

“I invite you to my court. I allow you to dance with my female. And this is how you repay me?”

He strained against Tamlin’s grasp at the mention of his mate. The male just gave him a humorless laugh and twisted the grip on his hair, forcing his head back farther.

“You have taken away everyone I have ever loved. My mother. My father. My brothers. Lucien. Even…” he paused, then leaned to whisper directly in his ear, “Even Feyre.”

Tamlin drew out her name into two long syllables in an attempt to spur a response from him, and, while he hated to play into his schemes, he couldn’t keep his expression smooth. Hearing her name in Tamlin’s hateful tone…

He opened his mouth to protest before thinking better of it.

Tamlin caught the movement and interrupted before he could utter a word. “Don’t try to deny it. Ever since she came back to me, she’s been different. Headstrong. Imperious. Callous. She was never like that before – _you_ changed her, _you_ sullied her, _you_ mutilated her, _you_ destroyed her. You, with your filthy mind games and that disgusting mating bond you claim.”

He couldn’t help himself. He spat in Tamlin’s face.


	46. Chapter 46

He woke to darkness. Not the darkness of night, not his darkness, but the true dark of a windowless cell buried deep beneath the ground.

True dark, and true silence.

The cell was vacant of all signs of life. He heard no scuttle of rodents. No insects crept across him as he slept. No footsteps sounded outside or above, not even of guards waiting just outside to keep him in line.

He knew he was belowground, for the air was dank and stuck in his lungs. And cold. He’d been stripped of his jacket and boots, left with only his pants and shirtsleeves to keep him warm.

Between the faebane and the blows from Tamlin and the guards, his body ached. His magic was no closer to him than it had been in the Great Hall, and it showed no signs of returning. They certainly had been liberal with the drug. The thought did nothing to comfort him.

He wondered how long they would leave him to rot, whether it would be before or after the drug wore off. Surely Tamlin wasn’t stupid enough not to keep a steady supply of faebane in his system. But even if his magic did return, his mental powers would be of no help, with no Fae nearby to influence.

His head swam as he pushed himself up. It throbbed fiercely, and he used his fingers to probe the tender spot at the base of his skull. His fingers came away sticky. He didn’t need light to know it was blood.

When he felt steady enough to stand, he measured the length of the cell. Two paces by one and a half. He couldn’t extend his legs all the way when he lay down. He had to stoop so that his head didn’t brush the ceiling.

Only by drawing his fingers against the cell walls did he find a crack that must have been a door. He shoved against it with all his strength, working up a sweat to keep the cold at bay. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that it didn’t budge.

He sat back against the wall opposite the door and folded his legs beneath him. His head rested against the cold stone, lightly so as not to agitate the wound. With no sign of help in sight, it wouldn’t do to inflame the it further.

He placed one hand on each knee to ground himself. He closed his eyes and imagined the face of his mate.

The cold returned in full force as his sweat-damp shirt cooled in the frigid air. He fell asleep shivering.

♦♦♦

In the constant dark, it was difficult to tell the passing of time. He spent most of his time sleeping, his body’s way of preserving itself in the absence of food and warmth. He had no water, either, and every time he awoke, the throbbing in his head had deepened.

But when he was not sleeping, he had time to replay the night in his mind. He turned it over, twisted it, squeezed it for every detail – every word, every move. The whereabouts of all the key players throughout the evening: Feyre, Tamlin, Ianthe, the Generals, the guards.

And, of course, Lucien.

Tamlin and the Generals had given him harsh glares when he’d arrived at the ball, Mor and Amren on either side of him. He’d refused to greet Tamlin, but he found the Falconer’s gaze just briefly. As at the Dawn Court meeting the week before, his old friend’s expression didn’t change when she met his eyes. Yet for a moment, those round eyes shone brighter and their golden hue became just a touch richer. Then her gaze swept past him, and the moment unraveled.

He was on shakier terms with Elivya and the Shapeshifter – all he got in greeting was a narrowing of their eyes. The Shapeshifter had gone so far as to place a hand on the sword at his waist.

Beside him, Mor stiffened when she saw Elivya. The General gave her a small, vicious smile. A knife appeared from within her sleeve, and she pantomimed throwing it at directly at Mor.

A whisper of a shudder passed over her. “Why does she always have to _do_ that?”

He chuckled and patted her hand. “Because she knows it bothers you. Especially after–”

“That was _one_ time!” she protested.

“Do you want me to fight her for you, Morrigan?” Amren flashed a small smile of her own at Elivya.

“There will be no fighting.”

Oh, how wrong had he been.

The tensions in the hall that night ran high, though no outsider would have suspected. The High Fae were quite adept at their schemes – smiling to enemies, trading threats only thinly veiled by cheery countenances.

He remembered a young Spring Court female who had attempted to blackmail him with outlandish rumors in return for a single dance, her smile faltering not once. He had turned her away, a patina of affability of his own plastered to his face to conceal the disgust that bubbled within him. After that, he had danced with Cresseida just for a reprieve from the schemes.

The Autumn Court delegation had been one of the worst perpetrators of this behavior. Beron’s sons needed to be leashed. It was not the first time the thought had crossed his mind.

That was when he should have noticed Lucien’s absence.

He didn’t remember seeing Lucien at the ball. Granted, he hadn’t given him much thought. But he should have recognized the opportunity for conflict between the Lords of Autumn and the wayward son. And he should have found it curious that it never came to fruition.

He’d been focused on Feyre – too focused. He should have heeded the warning signs of Tamlin’s anger. He should have…

He would not admit that he shouldn’t have danced with Feyre. It had been a necessary move. They had needed to reconcile. Selfishly, he had needed to begin painting the picture of the two of them together in public. Feyre wouldn’t remain at the Spring Court forever, and sooner or later, word of their mating – their _true_ mating – would come out.

Though perhaps he shouldn’t have held her so close, stared at her so intently.

He knew Tamlin despised him. The male had never forgiven him after what had happened with his family. The business with Amarantha, with the curse, with Feyre Under the Mountain... That had done nothing to change Tamlin’s feelings, only to deepen them, to forge them into a molten hatred that could never be cooled. And the continuing struggle for Feyre’s affections only stoked that hatred further.

It was as if the male had been looking for the opportunity to condemn him. Lucien’s death provided him that opportunity. No matter that there was no evidence against him, that he’d been upstairs the entire night, in full view of all the guests.

Tamlin wanted to blame him, so he did.

It was absurd, really. If he’d wanted to hurt Tamlin, really hurt him, Lucien wouldn’t be his first target. He’d strike at the Military, to crush the Spring Court defenses, or at Feyre, to get under his skin.

He thought about that for a moment. Except he wouldn’t move against the Military, not in a time of war, and his dance with Feyre certainly had gotten under Tamlin’s skin.

Perhaps he did look guilty for Lucien’s murder.

That dance, that _damned_ dance...

But it was those moments – those memories – that kept him sane amid the dark and the cold. He clung to the memory of her, clutched it to his chest as though it were the last thing he would ever hold.

Perhaps it would be.

♦♦♦

On what he could only assume was the first day, he didn’t believe Tamlin was going to kill him. Even Tamlin wasn’t foolish enough to provoke such a political disaster, especially with war on the horizon.

On the second, he became less certain. The faebane in his system kept the wound at the back of his head from clotting. His throat burned from lack of water, and he had taken to licking at the stones for the merest droplets of moisture. He reminded himself that if Tamlin did want him dead, he would want to do it with his own hands – where would be the pleasure in leaving him to waste away in a cell? The thought gave him comfort enough throughout the day.

He was asleep when a panel on the door opened. The hinges had rusted from lack of use, and their creaking tore him from sleep. The faintest sliver of candlelight peeked into the cell from between the bars. It burned his eyes, accustomed to utter darkness, as if he had looked straight into the sun.

A small skin of water was tossed between the bars. He was so thirsty, he didn’t bother with niceties before tearing into it.

When he had drained the skin, his mind too fuzzy to think about saving some for the coming days, he realized the panel remained open. Through it shone two round, golden eyes.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, General?” He settled back into his preferred cross-legged position. His head didn’t feel quite so leaden as he leaned it against the wall.

“Rhysand.” Her voice was soft. “Getting ourselves in trouble, again, are we?”

For her sake, he tried to keep his expression calm, unbothered. “I have to keep things interesting somehow, General.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Well, you’ve certainly been successful at that.”

He couldn’t quite match her smile, but he tried. It was good to see his friend’s face.

“I apologize that we can’t meet on more civilized conditions – please forgive the accommodations.” He raised his chin just slightly to indicate the cell. “How have you been?”

“Fine.”

“It’s been nearly a century, and all I get is ‘fine’?”

Those golden eyes narrowed at him. “I would be better suited to answer, had you deigned to keep in touch.”

“I have invited you to Velaris on many occasions,” he reminded her. “And besides, the last fifty years don’t count.”

Her smile disappeared. “I heard.”

She’d heard, because she hadn’t been Under the Mountain. Amarantha had been too petty to invite such outcasts as the Falconers.

“Rhysand, I’m so sorry. I wish I had been there–”

“No, you don’t. No one would wish for what we went through.” He shouldn’t have brought it up. No one ever knew what to say, because there was nothing to say. There were no words to express the horrors Under the Mountain, even for those who had been there. And especially not for those who hadn’t.

There was a pause as gravity darkened the cell. He changed the subject.

“What’s he planning? Do I need to worry?”

Celis knew who he meant, and she barked a laugh. “You’re not worried already?”

He didn’t answer, just waited for her to continue.

“The High Lord doesn’t share his plans with anyone but the priestess. Though I often suspect they’re her plans to begin with.” She scoffed at the thought.

“Your imprisonment is not common knowledge. Business has more or less continued as usual, excepting of course, the funeral later this afternoon. The High Lady…”

“How is she?”

“She’s torn up about Lucien. They – _we_ – were close.”

A pause. She wanted to know: she was asking him what role he had played that night. Celis wouldn’t have come to see him had she truly believed he had killed Lucien. But sometimes, even the strongest people needed confirmation of the truth, no matter how obvious it may seem.

That didn’t mean that the latent accusation didn’t hurt, or that the words didn’t fill his throat with bile as they came out.

“I didn’t do it, Celis. I didn’t kill him.”

“I know.” The response was quick, too quick. She hadn’t been certain.

“Does she know?”

“That you’re here? No. And before you ask, the answer is no,” she said. “I will not tell her – I _cannot_ tell her. The High Lord forbade it.”

“What else has he forbidden?” As hard as he tried, he couldn’t restrain the bitterness from his tone.

Her tattoo writhed in the faint candlelight. It was a long while before she responded. When she did, she didn’t meet his eyes. “I can’t help you.”

“Then why are you here?” He didn’t let anger touch his tone, but she blanched, her coppery skin paling. Somehow, calm always seemed to elicit more terror than anger.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Her words were no louder than a whisper. “Stupid, in retrospect. I should go.”

He supposed it hadn’t been fair to ask his friend to choose between him and Tamlin. No matter their history, she belonged to the Spring Court, not his. No matter her affection for him, her loyalty to Spring would always be stronger. It was one of the reasons he had been drawn to her, for that unwavering loyalty.

She turned to leave, but he called after her. “Wait.”

Her gaze flicked back to him in question.

“Thank you,” he said. “For the water, and for the company.”

Celis gave him a whisper of a smile and nodded once. Then, the panel shut, and he was once again alone with the darkness.


	47. Chapter 47

That night, brought on by memories dredged up during his conversation with Celis, he dreamt of Amarantha.

The nightmare was standard, filled with the scenes that used to trouble him every night, not so long ago.

He watched her smile as she snapped Feyre’s neck. He followed her to her bedroom, windowless and laden with finery, as if even here she felt the need to assert her wealth, her power. He screamed as she pinned his wings to the floor. He thrashed as she laid a hand on his arm–

No, that part was not a dream. Someone was in his cell.

His eyes shot open, but the rest of him was paralyzed from the nightmare. His breath came out ragged.

The hand on his arm was real. The fingers were lithe and feminine…

“Feyre,” he whispered.

But the laugh he received in response did not belong to his mate. It was cold, and sultry, and harsh.

Ianthe.

“I’m afraid not.” She did not sound afraid.

She was crouched at his side. The ruby at her forehead glowed against the darkness, pulsating like a living being. It illuminated her face in red, as if she had bathed in blood, staining her teeth and the whites of her eyes. Both of which were far too near to him.

He struggled to move backward, but there was nowhere to go.

Her fingers trailed up his arm, twisted in his hair, and caressed his cheek. “I do appreciate that Tamlin took care with his blows. It would be a shame to mar that pretty face.”

He began to shake, from the cold and from her touch. The touch he had successfully avoided for centuries. Until now, it seemed.

She shushed him, a mother calming a frightened child. “I told you,” she said, her voice a lullaby. “I told you that you would regret turning me away.” She stroked his face, his arms, the lines of his tattoos peeking out from beneath the collar of his shirt.

He jerked backward, anything to get away from those prowling fingers. His head hit on the cell wall, and the wound broke open again. Blood began to trickle down his neck.

She just smiled.

It was the smile of a wolf.

“What a match we would have made. I, the High Priestess of Prythian, and you, its most powerful High Lord. Just imagine the influence we would have had. Just imagine,” she leaned down to whisper in his ear, and her curls felt like razors on his skin as they swept against it, “The influence our offspring would have had.”

Her breath was hot. Her head was to his, her nose just barely brushing his cheek. There was nowhere to go. His hands were pinned beneath him, but even if they hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have been able to shove her away. He was immobilized by her touch, and by the fifty years of trauma that came with it.

“I’m afraid that door has closed. You will not remain High Lord for much longer. But when the gods close one door, they open another.”

With one hand, adept fingers began to unbutton his shirt. They trailed lower, unyielding, until…

Something glimmered at the edge of his mind.

Magic.

He hadn’t noticed its return. It wasn’t the endless cavern that it typically was, just a small pool. But it was enough.

He reached for it, grasped the droplets in one hand. Tendrils of night radiated from him. The priestess was thrust back against the cell wall, and he heard a sharp crack as her head connected with stone.

But instead of screaming or being frightened, she merely smiled at him. And then she began to laugh.

“Excellent.” He half expected her to clap in cruel delight. “You’re ready.”

She rapped her knuckles against the door, and it swung open.

He lunged for the exit. But his legs were cramped from two days in the cell, and his knees buckled under him. He made a grab for magic to steady himself.

The pool was empty. He had dried it to push Ianthe away.

The High Priestess laughed again to see dread flood his face as the realization hit him. She stepped from the cell, and two guards took her place. They dragged him forth. He left a trail of blood in his wake.

He didn’t get a chance to inspect his surroundings before a familiar rush of swirling wind hit him as the guards winnowed.

He was back in the Great Hall.


	48. Chapter 48

It was the same scene as last he had seen.

The hall was empty, save for guards lining the walls, the exits, and the dais. The Generals were fanned out behind the throne – a single throne upon which Tamlin sat.

Feyre’s was nowhere in sight. Neither was she.

Tamlin’s rage of two nights ago had tempered to a steel point, and he thought he could smell the metallic intensity of that steel.

Or perhaps that was his blood, which still dotted the marble floor.

The artifacts from the ball had been cleared, save for the delicate jasmine blossoms that still wreathed the columns. They had begun to wilt, and tiny petals made a light blanket upon the floor.

The only other difference he noted was the black streak drawn across one eye of each of the Fae present.

Ianthe dipped into a deep curtsy before Tamlin. In the light, he could see that her neck was faintly purple, as if someone had tried to squeeze the life from her. He made a note to thank whoever it had been.

“Is he ready?”

Ready. That was the second time he’d heard the word, first from Ianthe and now from Tamlin. He did not want to guess at what, exactly, he was ready for.

“Oh yes,” said the priestess, straightening. “I made quite sure of that.”

“Good.”

She climbed the dais and perched on the right arm of the throne. The arrogance, the possession in that gesture – in her every gesture…

He recalled Celis’s comment, about how Tamlin had begun to confide only in her. And how she very well might be the puppetmaster, pulling strings behind a curtain to make the courts dance to her will.

It was as if she was High Lady, rather than his mate.

If Ianthe’s approaches had turned his blood cold, paralyzed him with fear for himself, that thought turned his blood fiery hot. It scorched his veins, that the puppetmaster’s plans might involve usurping Feyre.

For no usurpation had ever been bloodless.

But Tamlin spoke before he could. “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

 _Never a good sign_.

“Seeing as you’ve taken away that which I hold most dearly, it seems only fitting that I do the same for you.”

His stomach dropped. Feyre’s absence…

Tamlin wouldn’t kill her. He _couldn’t_ kill her, not if he wanted to retain any sort of power in his court. Not to mention the alliance with the other courts.

But if it wasn’t Feyre, then who? Mor and Amren had gotten out safely – he had felt their consciousnesses disappear as they winnowed back to Velaris after the ball. And he couldn’t have been able to seize Cassian and Azriel, who were overseeing the Illyrian legions deep within the Night Court borders.

Tamlin looked amused at his confusion. “Your wings.”

He forgot how to breathe.

His wings.

His mind went blank. He could not think. He could not have moved or spoken, had he tried. The world narrowed to him, and his wings, and Tamlin, who wanted to destroy them.

His wings.

Not even in his nightmares did Amarantha attempt to sever his wings.

Not even the most despicable criminals were charged with it. He could barely remember the last time such a punishment had been issued – certainly not under his authority, nor under his father’s before him. It was unthinkable. It was the gravest insult, a move that could spark enmity between families for millennia.

Between families… and Tamlin had already severed his mother and sister’s wings without a second thought. They likely hung as trophies somewhere in his manor.

He took a great gasp of breath as his lungs remembered how to work.

Tamlin had no true power over him – he could not force him to reveal his wings. That would require magic…

He understood, then. The faebane, the cell, Ianthe – all orchestrated to allow him magic enough to summon his wings. Just the smallest sliver, but magic nonetheless. And as he reached into the pool that had begun to refill ever so slowly, he found that that’s all that he had – just the smallest sliver. 

How long had Tamlin been planning this? Was Lucien’s death merely a convenient excuse for him to commit such an action? The male could never be described as cunning or clever. But he should not have underestimated him – and the beast prowling beneath his skin that appeared at any threat. And he had no need for cunning or cleverness with the High Priestess at his right hand.

It always came back to his wings, didn’t it? Ever since he’d revealed them, Tamlin had jumped at every opportunity to use them against him. First at the Dawn Court meeting, now here…

He would not be Tamlin’s pawn.

He stared at the male. “No.”

Tamlin just gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I thought you might say that.” He signaled to the guards.

Then everything began to happen at once.

The guards forced him to his knees and stripped him to the waist. They tied rope to his wrists, which was pulled taut to columns on either side of the hall, stretching his arms wide. He could not see behind himself, but with the slightest return of his powers, he felt them form a line behind him.

Tamlin, Ianthe, and the Generals did not move from the dais but watched with an unnerving calm. Tamlin could have been eyeing a grand feast. At his shoulder, Ianthe grinned. The Shapeshifter fixed him with hard eyes and arms crossed over his chest. Elivya picked at her nails with a knife.

Celis didn’t do him the dishonor of looking away, of refusing to watch the horror she was unable to stop. Only the barest whisper of concern crossed her face, the slightest widening of those golden eyes. He would be sure to thank her for that concern, if he ever made it out.

Violet eyes met golden.

And then the blows began to fall.

At first, with a small pool of magic to sustain him, it was like rain. At least, that’s what he tried to convince himself. He fed wisps of magic into the lashes that tore into his back – not enough to heal them, but enough to take away a hint of the pain.

“Show me your wings,” Tamlin demanded.

He refused.

The blows continued.

Then, when he could no longer persuade himself of that, he reminded himself that he’d survived worse. Training in the Illyrian war camps. His capture during the War. Surely those had been worse.

“Show me your wings,” Tamlin demanded.

He refused.

The blows continued.

Surely, there had been worse.

Soon, he had to convince himself of that fact, too. The line of guards behind him never shortened. Their arms never wavered. Each lash struck true, drawing a line of red through his back.

“Show me your wings,” Tamlin demanded.

He refused.

The blows continued.

Blood. There was so much blood.

Blood stained the marble. He was losing the strength to hold himself upright, and his knees kept slipping in the blood. The rope chafed at his wrists as he sagged against it. Sweat beaded on his chest, but his hands and feet were numb with cold, feeling the first effects of the blood loss.

“Show me your wings,” Tamlin demanded.

He refused.

The blows continued.

And then, of course, there was the pain.

He didn’t know if it was the lingering faebane that halted his body’s accelerated ability to heal, or if the guards used an exceptional instrument of pain, a particular Spring Court varietal cultivated over the millennia. But whatever it was, it was beyond anything he had ever felt.

Each lash struck him to the core, sending a spasm through his entire body. There was no time even to take a breath between one lash and the next.

“Show me your wings,” Tamlin demanded.

He refused.

The blows continued.

A particularly vigorous lash caused a mist of blood toward the dais. It coated Tamlin’s boots and smudged on the hem of Ianthe’s dress. Neither of them moved from their positions. Neither of them were fazed by the blood.

Crimson specks splattered on Celis’s face. Her eyes never left his.

“Show me your wings,” Tamlin demanded.

He refused.

The blows continued.

At some point, though, his eyes left hers. At some point, he screamed. At some point, he stopped trying to hold himself up and passed that responsibility on to the ropes attached to his wrists. At some point, he lost consciousness, until the next lash brought him back.

At some point, he began to wonder whether it would not be better just to give in to Tamlin’s demand.

But even had he wanted to submit, he would not have had the capacity to. There was only the pain, and the lashes.

“Show me your wings,” Tamlin demanded.

He refused.

The blows continued.

They continued, on and on. They continued, a constant rhythm – never faltering, never hastening. They continued for hours, for days, for centuries. They continued.

And they continued.

Until they didn’t.

“What is this?”

I descended the staircase, still wet from the rain outside.


	49. Chapter 49

Tamlin, Ianthe, and the Generals were arrayed atop the dais. Our guards stood in a line that stretched the length of the hall. At the head of the line, a figure had been strung up and bowed before the dais.

Even before I identified the mass of red that stained the hall, the stench of blood stung my nose.

“What is this?” I repeated.

The figure didn’t move, even as I approached. But I could feel a consciousness emanating from its position in the hall. It was alive – just barely, but still alive.

Strangely, the consciousness felt familiar. Like the nighttime sky. Like citrus and the sea.

Almost like… Rhys.

But that figure, that mess of blood and bone, that was not my mate. That _could_ not be my mate. He was back in Velaris, or else the Illyrian mountains, preparing for war – I had felt him leave the ball, just after Mor and Amren.

Another poor faerie from the Night Court, then. I would have to handle this situation delicately, straddling the line between my two courts.

But as I drew nearer, any hope of the latter was shattered. At this proximity, the mating bond flared to life, sketching a firm tether between myself and the ruined figure on the floor.

It was Rhys.

He remained motionless as I came to stand beside him. I do not quite know how I managed not to vomit.

His back was a carcass. Skin hung in mangled strips. His tattoos were ruined. And the blood…

There was blood everywhere, coating Rhys like a second skin, matting in his hair. Where it had dried, it stiffened his pants and streaked his face like war paint.

He sat in a pool of his own blood. Had I not known, I could not have guessed at the original color of the marble beneath us. Blood pulled at the hem of my dress and soaked through the fabric of my boots.

So much blood… it was a wonder he was still alive.

I didn’t have words, but my hands moved mechanically. First to the binding that held his left arm, then the right. The rope, sticky with blood, was slippery in my hands.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ianthe from the dais, voice raised to a screech.

I ignored her. No one else spoke, or made to move.

When I freed both his arms, Rhys slumped forward. I caught him before he crashed into the marble.

He was dead weight in my arms and only barely lucid. His eyelids fluttered, but he couldn’t seem to focus on his surroundings. I doubted he was aware of my presence.

Down the bond, I reached for the fortress of his mind. It was slightly blurred, its edges fuzzy. I placed a gentle hand along the wall and sent him all the love and warmth I could muster.

I used a flick of air to slice open a vein in my wrist and lifted it to his mouth.

 _Drink_ , I told him.

Whatever part of him that was left listened. The faintest bit of color began to bloom in his skin as the healing properties of my blood did their work. There was an irony there, somewhere – that amidst so much blood, the cure was more blood.

“Feyre.” Tamlin this time. It sounded like a warning.

I was in no mood to heed a warning from him.

“What have you done?” I whispered. In my arms, I could feel Rhys’s body knit itself back together. His breathing was becoming steadier, though he still appeared not quite lucid.

There was no answer.

I twisted my gaze toward the dais, finally acknowledging Tamlin. A bit of blood had managed to make it all the way to where he sat on his throne, Ianthe perched like a cat at his side. The two of them – and the Generals, too, standing on either side of Tamlin – looked as if they had been dusted in blood. Like they had been caught outside just as it began to rain.

“What have you done?”

Tamlin sat up straighter and fixed me with a stern look, as a parent might to berate a stubborn child. “He murdered Lucien.”

Every bone in my body wanted to scream at how wrong he was.

“He is a _High Lord_. We are at _war_ –”

“We are. Which is why we cannot take any chances. We cannot have our allies stabbing us in the back as we sleep. Traitors must be dealt with and eliminated.”

Rhys was awake. The healing magic had done what it could to staunch the lashes on his back, and blood did not flow quite so freely as it had a few moments before. His pulse was strong; his breathing had evened. The haziness of his mind was gone. In its place, a sharp wall of black adamant thrummed with magic.

He pushed himself to standing. Blood dripped from his shirt, his hair, his fingertips, but he looked a far sight better than he had.

 _Go_ , I told him. _Now._

Rhys scanned the hall, a universal look of hatred for all present.

“I’m never going to another _fucking_ party again,” he muttered.

And then he was gone.

♦♦♦

Tamlin and I started screaming at each other the moment Rhys left.

“How _dare_ you let him go!”

“How dare you treat him so! Our ally, the most powerful High Lord, with the largest territory and armies in Prythian. What possessed you to believe that was an appropriate move?”

“He murdered Lucien!” I had the sense he would use that excuse to justify all his actions for the years to come.

I lifted my blood-soaked hands to him. “This belongs to you. His blood is on _your_ hands.”

“He was our prisoner,” he scoffed.

“Your prisoner? You had no right–”

“I had every right! I am the High Lord of the Spring Court!”

“You are a coward. There was no evidence–”

“He was marked. A mountain and three stars, just behind the ear.”

“ _I_ gave that to him!”

The words were out before I could reel them in.

Tamlin froze, his mouth still half open and poised to spout his next excuse. His eyes narrowed at me as he worked out what, exactly, my words implied.

“You…”

For everyone knew that tattoos held special significance within the Night Court: they marked any bargain sealed with a member of the court. When it had appeared on Lucien, I had done what I could to glamour the tattoo that signified our bet before our Dawn Court meeting. It must have worn off with his death.

Now, I couldn’t seem to remember who had won that bet.

The mountain crested by three stars was the insignia of the Night Court. It could only mean one thing for me to have given Lucien that tattoo.

Ianthe’s eyes were wide. “So it’s true. The mating bond – everything.”

I could not deny it. And I no longer felt any desire to.

I lifted my chin and kept my gaze on Tamlin. “A mating bond cannot be broken.”

His lips curled into a snarl. “Seize her.”

I did not struggle as the guards – _my_ guards – took me by the arm, wrenched me from my position kneeling in a pool of blood, and winnowed me far belowground.

After all, the guards had always maintained that their loyalty belonged to the Spring Court and the Spring Court alone.

♦♦♦

At this distance, Rhys’s consciousness was hard to reach. I spent the first minutes of my imprisonment climbing the bridge between our minds.

If that was the proper term – imprisonment. I couldn’t be certain. The guards took no measures toward assuring that I remained held in the cells far beneath the Douglass estate, neither dousing me with faebane nor standing guard at the cell door. Perhaps their loyalty was not as dogmatic as they preached. Perhaps they realized that my allegiance to the Night Court did not negate my allegiance to Spring.

When I finally reached Rhys, I spoke in images rather than words. Tamlin and I shouting across the hall, him bearing over me from atop the dais, me on my knees in a puddle of blood. A flash of a dank, windowless cell. Velaris, as I remembered it, with cobblestone streets and faeries overcome with vitality. The Spring Court wards that had never been replaced after the ball.

He understood.


	50. Chapter 50

There was a faint boom that echoed across the land.

On the crest of the hill overlooking the Douglass estate, five silhouettes stood dressed in Illyrian battle leathers. The next moment, an army appeared behind them.

Shadowy figures filled the landscape, spanning as far as the eye could see. The rolling greenery of the Spring Court was overrun with wings and steel.

Illyrians and High Fae stood side-by-side. They did not resent each other, as might have been fostered by centuries of segregation within their court, nor did they jostle within their ranks. They did not toss jeers or taunts between one another.

They made no noise at all, save for the wind’s whistle upon their drawn blades. Soldiers of darkness.

They were the night.

For minutes, they stood, silent shadows. They made no move to advance toward the estate. They did not send threats. Neither did they move to retreat.

They simply waited.

Another boom sounded across the twilit landscape, and another army appeared to face the first.

It filled the bowl of the estate with precise ranks of green-and-gold, and skin and feathers and scales. A legion of birds of prey circled in the sky. In the very back, a small unit of archers stood proud.

Five figures, too, helmed this army. Silence, too, reigned among them.

That was the scene laid before me as I climbed toward the crest of the hill: my two loyalties standing in opposition to one another.

Escape from the cell had been as simple as winnowing to my rooms in the mansion above. I allowed myself a moment to wash Rhys’s blood from my hands and my hair. There was no hope of cleaning the simple dress I had worn.

In its stead, I donned a gown the color of mist. The folds of the skirt were endless. As I approached the armies, they billowed around me, buoyed by my swirling aura. My hair was wild in the wind.

The dress left my arms bare, tattoos exposed for all the world to see.

My deception was over.

I turned my gaze toward the Night Court forces. Even Keir and Lord Devlon had come to lead their respective forces, regardless of their dislike of me. I cast my thoughts across the Darkbringers and the Illyrians. _Kneel_.

As one, they dropped to their knees before me.

I turned toward the Spring Court forces. Among the sea of green-and-gold Military, Falconers, and Shapeshifters, I could not spot any of my friends – Leela and Tessa, the adolescents who had snuck in and refused to be turned away, the best chef in all seven courts. But their consciousnesses shone like stars, and I knew they were there. To them – to all the Spring Court legions – I issued the same command.

Without hesitation, they obeyed, the movements a portrait of coordinated control.

The five figures at the head of each army stood firm. It was strange to see the two families I had come to care for finally facing each other. Two worlds colliding, and me at the nexus of the collision. I suppose, in a way, I _was_ the collision.

They had paired off, and I wondered at the strange mirroring of each pair. Like two sides of the same coin.

At the center of the formation, Rhys faced Tamlin. Love for each of them had sunk its claws in me, a love so deep that it had driven me to overcome the impossible. Flip the coin over, and I had felt immense hatred for both of them, too, at one point or another.

Love and hate. Rhys and Tamlin. I wondered whether I would ever be able to have one without the other lingering over my shoulder.

On either side, Mor and Ianthe were locked in a battle of wills, beauty and blonde curls reflected between the two of them. I had thought each of them, on separate occasions, to be my closest friend. Only one of them had rung true, warm and bright and genuine; the other had been nothing but cold and dark and false.

On the other side of the High Lords, Amren and Liv were calm. They surveyed each other with the arrogance of those who had lived through horrors none other in Prythian could have dreamed of. They were both beings of otherworldly grace. In a different time, I could imagine them being friends.

Cassian and Celis; Azriel and Alistair. One pair fiercely loyal and always on the lookout for a good time; the other preferring to remain in the shadows, stoic and reserved.

I surveyed them all. My friends, my family, my enemies, my allies.

The life I had built for myself in Prythian – my entire world – boiled down to these ten figures.

I turned to the Night Court. My eyes connected with Cassian, with Amren, with Mor, with Azriel. I smiled at them, then nodded.

They nodded in return, and then they too dropped to their knees.

I turned my attention to the Spring Court. I held Celis’s gaze, Liv’s, Ianthe’s, and Alistair’s. I did not glare at Ianthe. She was beneath me. She did not merit the effort of my hatred.

I gave them a nod. They did not return it.

Then, in a wave, they fell to one knee and bowed. Even Liv, who I doubted had bowed to any in her life. Even Alistair, with whom I had developed only a weak, tedious relationship.

Even Ianthe, bearing the grass stains soon to appear on her pristine robes without complaint. Even she could not resist the influence of the High Lady.

Rhys, Tamlin, and I were left on our feet.

I stood before my mate. I raised my right hand to his cheek, holding my tattooed forearm high for all to see.

I inspected his eyes, his face, for residue of the trauma inflicted upon him at Tamlin’s hands only a short while ago.

He caught me. _I’m fine. Thank you for getting me out._ A sly grin emerged on his face. _Thank you for saving me_.

I matched his grin. _It’s nice to be the one doing the saving, for a change._ Then, I let the expression fade.

_I love you_.

And because he loved me, too, the High Lord of the Night Court dropped to his knees before me.

It was time to face Tamlin.

I didn’t know what to say. But as I lifted my other hand to his face, my hand tattooed in iridescent vines that swirled like the Spring Court crest, the words came to me.

He could not respond; his powers lay elsewhere. So he listened.

_Once, a human girl fell in love with a faerie in a mask. And though the mask came off, the male never stopped hiding behind it._

_I loved you, Tamlin. I truly did. In another time, in another place, we could have been happy together. Our love was pure, and it filled me with sunlight._

_But I was not born for the sunlight. And that is not your fault, nor mine. It just is. I cannot change who I am any more than you can stop the sun from setting or the moon from rising._

_I’m sorry_ , I told him.

Tamlin looked at me with sad eyes.

 _Let me go_.

His head shook just slightly as I felt his heart break. Those sad eyes welled with tears, and one slid down his cheek. I brushed it away with a thumb that glowed iridescent in the last rays of the sun.

 _Let me go_ , I whispered, as gently as I knew how.

He reached a hand to stroke my cheek, but he stopped the movement halfway. His arm fell back to his side, and I could hear air whistle between his lips as he let loose a long exhale.

He spoke.

“Be happy, Feyre.”

Then, he, too, fell to his knees at my feet.

I alone was left standing at the crest of the hill. The Spring Court and the Night Court bowed before me.

My hand found Rhys’s shoulder.

I turned back to cast my gaze over the Spring Court a final time. The Generals. Ianthe. The Military. The archers. The Shapeshifters. The Falconers. The friends and the family I had found.

“I will return,” I promised them.

I threw my magic across the Night Court legions, and we disappeared.


End file.
